


Flip a Coin

by zuotian



Category: South Park
Genre: Adulthood, Anal Sex, Bottom/Bottom Relationship, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dildos, Established Relationship, F/M, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Marriage, Mentions of Cuckolding, Oral Sex, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Relationship Negotiation, Religion, Sex Toys, Slice of Life, Sobriety, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 06:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20634872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuotian/pseuds/zuotian
Summary: When his stagnant sex life began affecting his relationship outside of the bedroom, Stan decided to canvass the erotic proclivities of his friends, who offered him wanted - as well as unwanted - advice ranging from terrible to life-changing.





	Flip a Coin

**Author's Note:**

> ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS FANFICTION—EVEN THOSE BASED ON A REAL SHOW—ARE ENTIRELY GRATUITOUS. ALL CANONICAL DIALOGUE IS IMPERSONATED ... POORLY. THE FOLLOWING FANFICTION CONTAINS COARSE LANGUAGE AND DUE TO ITS CONTENT IT SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE.

“Heads or tails?” Stan asked. 

“Tails, I guess,” Kyle said. 

Stan flipped a quarter off his thumb. They tracked its launch into the air. Upon descent, Stan clapped the coin to the back of his hand. “Three,” he said.

“Two,” Kyle followed.

“One!” Stan revealed the coin. “Aw, damn it. Heads.” 

“Yes!” Kyle cheered. Stan sent him a glare. Kyle’s celebration abruptly ceased. “I mean… Yes, that is an adequate outcome of this situation. To which I am impartial.” 

Stan tossed the coin away - watched it thunk to the wooden floor of their bedroom and roll under the dresser - then fell onto his back and ran his hands through his hair. “This _ sucks _. You won last time, too!” 

“It’s a game of chance, Stan,” Kyle said, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed. “I don’t control it.” 

“That coin’s weighted. Same as last time.” 

“_ That _ was a quarter. Last time we used a dime from 1969.” 

Stan peeked at Kyle through his fingers. “How’d you remember?” 

“Because the year had sixty nine in it,” Kyle scoffed. Stan wasn’t amused. Kyle patted his knee. “Honey, I’m sorry, but we can’t change the rules of the game. What if _ you _ won two times in a row? Would you still be mad?” 

“No,” Stan grumbled. He dropped his hands to his sides and exhaled, staring at the ceiling. “I just don’t want to do it right now, you know?” 

“You never want to,” Kyle said. “And neither do I. That’s our problem. That’s why we made the game.” 

“We should roll dice instead,” Stan said. “Or play rock-paper-scissors. Best two outta three.” 

“It’d still be the same thing,” Kyle told him, “just with more steps.” 

“Do you think Tweek and Craig deal with stuff like this?” 

Kyle rolled his eyes and retracted his hand from Stan’s knee. “Why is it whenever we have a problem you immediately think of them?” 

“Because they’re the only other gay couple in South Park.” 

“That’s not true,” Kyle said. “There’s Cartman and Butters.” 

“They don’t count,” Stan said. “Everybody knows Cartman is Butters’ bitch.” 

“Fair,” Kyle assented. “But does the couple need to be gay, necessarily? I mean, just for comparison’s sake - take Wendy and Kenny for example. Remember how Kenny kept telling us about Wendy’s strap-on a few months ago?” 

“I _ really _ don’t want to think about my ex-girlfriend topping one of my best friends,” Stan said. 

Kyle shrugged. “I’m just saying. There’s a decision making process involved with them, too.” 

“It still doesn’t count,” Stan said. “Pegging is like - an event. Even if they do it all the time, it’s still an _ exception _. It’s not matter-of-fact.” 

Kyle laid down next to Stan and entwined their fingers. “Nothing’s gonna happen tonight. Am I right?” 

“Ugh.” Stan looked at him. “I’m sorry. I know I’m fucking this up - especially with the house to ourselves and all.” 

“It’s okay, Stan. I don’t want to force you into something you don’t want to do.” Kyle rolled onto his side. “We’ll just give each other blowjobs. And with the house empty, we can watch Netflix all night in the living room - however loud we want.” 

“What’s the point if there’s no chill involved?” Stan lamented. 

Kyle snorted. “Netflix and chill? Seriously? You sound so old.” 

“You get what I mean,” Stan said. “All we do is have boring, vanilla sex all the time. What happened? When we were younger we did so much crazy shit.” 

“That’s because we didn’t know what we liked back then,” Kyle patiently explained. “Our tastes have matured.” 

“I wish our tastes were a little more _ compatible _.” 

Kyle frowned. “You’re really upset about this, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah, I am!” Stan sat up, brought his knees to his chest. “Like - aren’t you sick of always having this conversation?” 

“No.” Kyle propped himself up on an elbow. “There’s compromises in every relationship.” 

“Not like this,” Stan said. He waved his hands around emphatically. “Not every time we want to fuck!” 

“Don’t get angry with _ me _,” Kyle snapped. 

Stan deflated with a belabored sigh. “I’m not mad at you. It’s just...annoying.” 

“I know, honey,” Kyle said. “I’m frustrated too.” 

Stan chewed on his lip and fell quiet, staring at his wedding ring.

Kyle sat up once the silence dragged on for too long, hooked his chin over Stan’s shoulder. “I love you.” 

Stan pressed his temple into Kyle’s red curls. “I love you too.” 

“And I’m _ very _ attracted to you,” Kyle added. 

“Back at ya.”

“But…” 

Stan frowned. “Yeah. _ But _…” 

“There’s got to be something we can do to make this easier for the both of us,” Kyle said. 

Stan was sick of speaking about this; it never got them anywhere. He gently brushed Kyle off and rose to his feet. “I’ll talk to Craig and Tweek when I pick up Rebecca tomorrow morning.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” Stan said, “really.” 

“Where are you going?” 

Stan paused, one foot out in the hall, and braced his forearm on the doorframe. “Gonna make some popcorn. Netflix dropped that new Terrance and Phillip movie, you know.” 

“Jesus. How many are there now, five?” 

“Six, I think.” 

“Well, okay. I’ll be down in a sec. I gotta change. Want me to bring your comfy pants?” 

Stan grinned. “Yeah, thanks. Love you.” 

Kyle smiled back. “Love you too.” 

Stan slapped the doorframe on his way out. 

/ 

Stan went to Tweek and Craig’s house a little after nine o’ clock the next morning. They only lived a few blocks away, close enough for Rebecca to walk home, which she was old enough to do occasionally. But it still made Kyle nervous, and picking her up gave Stan an excuse to hang out in Tweek and Craig’s kitchen whilst their children played upstairs. 

For all the bullshit they put each other through as kids, Stan really liked Tweek and Craig. They were the most well adjusted people he knew. Tweek’s family business got run into the ground by corporate competition years ago, and he subsequently became an engineer. Craig tried to go into astrophysics but was too lazy for serious academia, so he settled with being an adjunct astronomy professor at a community college forty five minutes away. He never shut up about the one time he met Elon Musk at a conference in Florida - a framed picture of the two shaking hands was proudly framed in the living room for all guests to see; and if they _ didn’t _ notice it, Craig pointed it out to them. 

Currently, Stan sat at the kitchen island and watched Craig put on a pot of coffee real quick. And by “put on a pot of coffee real quick,” Craig meant fiddling around with some espresso doohickey of Italian design that Tweek made himself. It probably _ required _ an engineering degree just to operate. But damn if it wasn’t some of the best coffee Stan had. 

“So where’s Tweek?” he asked after a sufficient period of silence had passed. Craig was a man of few words, especially in the morning; you had to give him time before you started assailing him with basic conversation. 

“Checking on the girls,” Craig said without turning around. He poured some freshly ground coffee beans into the espresso machine. 

“Oh,” Stan said. “Did Rebecca behave okay?” 

Craig snorted. “You want a report on your daughter’s behavior? You sound like Kyle.” 

“I’m just asking,” Stan said. “It’s a normal thing for a father to ask.” 

Craig pressed a few buttons. The espresso machine started to whir and drip. He finally turned around, leaned against the counter with his arms crossed. Craig looked the same as he had in high school: agelessly handsome; Stan felt like a chump in comparison. 

“She was fine,” Craig said. “They played on the trampoline for around four hours. I made them mac and cheese for dinner. They watched a movie. Tweek put them to bed. I think they stayed up late on YouTube or something; they were giggling all night. Sorry,” he said, unapologetically.

“They’re kids,” Stan said. “If they weren’t staying up all night I think there’d be a problem.” 

“I guess,” Craig agreed. “Sam’s twelve, now - and Rebecca’s what, ten?” 

“Eleven in three months,” Stan said, wondering where the time had gone. 

“They’re getting older,” Craig stated. 

Stan waited for Craig to finish his thought, but that appeared to be all he had to say on the matter. 

“If you ever want some alone time with Tweek, just let me or Kyle know,” he offered. “Sam’s great. She’s always welcome at our place.” 

“Cool,” Craig said. “She likes Rebecca a lot.” 

“Cool,” Stan echoed. 

Craig appraised him with a shrewd stare. 

“Can I ask you something?” Stan asked, since Craig was already onto his weird mood. “Man to man?” 

“Is this a man to man question, or a _ gay _ man to gay man question?” 

“Uhh - gay?” 

Craig sighed. He glanced at the ceiling. Stan wasn’t sure if he was trying to beseech God in the sky or his husband upstairs. “What is it?” 

“Kyle and I are having problems,” Stan began. 

Craig looked back at him. “How so?” 

“It’s nothing bad,” Stan assured. “We aren’t fighting or anything.” 

“Oh.” Craig relaxed. “Do you really need my help, then?” 

“I need advice, is all.” 

The espresso machine dinged with a torrent of steam. Craig filled a small mug with fragrant, jet black coffee and set it in front of Stan. “Go to marriage counselor.” 

Stan cupped the mug with both hands. “I’d rather go to a trusted friend instead.” 

“I don't consider you a trusted friend,” Craig said. 

“But I consider _ you _ to be one of mine,” Stan told him. 

Craig finished preparing another espresso. “What is it about?” he asked once the machine got back to work. 

Stan leaned over the island, dropped his voice to a whisper. “So, when you and Tweek have sex, do you ever - “ 

“Nope.” Craig abruptly walked away. “I’m done.” 

“What?!” Stan spun around on the stool. “You didn’t even let me finish!” 

Craig strode into the living room and hollered up the stairs. “Tweek! Stan needs to talk to you!” 

“I’ll be down in a minute,” Tweek replied. “I’m pooping!” 

Craig returned to the kitchen. “He’s pooping.” 

“I heard,” Stan said. “Look, can’t you just listen to what I have to say?”

The espresso machine dinged again. Craig poured out an espresso of his own, knocked it back in one scathing gulp, and set the mug in the sink. “No. I’m going to the living room. You wait here.” 

Stan was left alone in the kitchen until Tweek came by, chipper and energetic with coffee already in hand. You never saw him without one, which was probably the reason he pooped so much. “Morning!” 

“Morning,” Stan returned. 

“How’s your coffee?” 

Stan hadn’t actually drank any of it yet. “Good.” 

Tweek peered into the sink. “Ugh - look at the dregs in Craig’s cup! He put too much grounds in.” He grabbed Stan’s own mug without warning. “Yours is messed up, too.” 

Stan jolted, startled by Craig peeking into the room in his peripheral vision. 

“I heard you complaining,” Craig said.

“You fucked up the espressos again,” Tweek admonished. “It’s not rocket science - which you should _ know _, anyway!” 

“Babe, for the last time, rocket science is an engineering thing, and I am a physicist.” 

“Oh, yeah? How do you solve for linear motion?” 

“E equals m multiplied by you’re an asshole squared.” 

“Fuck off!” 

“I’m gonna go masturbate to the Space X launch stream,” Craig said and dipped out. 

Tweek smiled after him. “Jesus Christ. I hate that guy.” 

Stan’s gut churned at the wholesome - if weird - bickering between the two. He and Kyle were like that, once, but as of late things had puttered out between them. All the fun was gone, stifled by adult responsibilities and halfheartedly fulfilled marital obligations. 

Tweek dumped Stan’s mug in the sink. “Sorry about his shitty coffee. I’ll make you a _ real _ espresso, Stan.” 

“Appreciate it,” Stan said, distracted by the sudden turn of his thoughts. He stared out the window above the kitchen sink as Tweek fucked with the espresso machine. Sunlight gleamed off Sam’s plastic playhouse sitting in the backyard. Stan imagined her and Rebecca playing in it, hosting pretend tea parties - or, if they were anything like Stan and his friends in their youth, negotiating fictitious hostage situations. 

Stan zoned out, contemplating his childhood versus his adulthood and Kyle’s presence as the one constant variable in his entire life. Was _ that _ the problem? Did they have nothing left to offer each other after spending so many years together?

It didn’t seem like that was the case for Tweek and Craig. Sure, they hadn’t fallen in love at birth like Stan and Kyle had, but when they realized their feelings for each other they were self-aware about it - neither of them dated the same girl until he was eighteen just to deny his sexuality like Stan, or dodged confirmations of intimacy in order to preserve their friendship like Kyle. 

Stan’s gaze roved away from the window, and he noticed a photo of Tweek and Craig magnetized to the fridge in between clipped coupons and pictures of Sam at boxing lessons. He got up to inspect it. 

Tweek and Craig were leaning close together, smiles on their faces, wearing t-shirts and swimming trunks. In the background, Kenny was frozen in the middle of a cannonball over the surface of Stark’s Pond. When Stan squinted, he could make out a fuzzy orange blob through the blurred trees surrounding the pond. 

Stan remembered that afternoon down to its smallest details, mostly because it was the day of his and Kyle’s first kiss. Somebody got the idea to throw a party at Stark’s Pond. Everybody showed up to swim and drink and get high.

A local homeowner eventually called in a noise complaint, forcing the party to a premature end, but not before Kyle took Stan for a walk. Stan had been sober for two years by then and didn’t like being around copious amounts of alcohol, so the walk was a nice break from all the crazy drunkeness around him.

They trekked a precariously beaten path along the perimeter of the pond, shielded from onlookers by a wall of tall trees. Dirt squished under their bare feet. Wild grass grazed their calves. When noise from the party diminished, Kyle entwined their fingers; Stan didn’t comment. 

He pointed out different rocks and plants and animal tracks. Sometime in his junior year he decided to become a park ranger and bought a collection of field guides from the eighties for ten bucks. Kyle didn’t seem too interested in his explanations of central Colorado’s indeginous wildlife, but listened closely, allowing Stan to blow off his nervous energy. 

Stan finished regurgitating his minimal knowledge of the metamorphic rocks which had tumbled all the way down the mountains into the forest, and fell quiet. Kyle pulled him to a stop. Stan could feel in his bones that something big was going to happen. Without a word, Kyle stepped forward and kissed him. Short and sweet. Stan didn’t resist. 

They broke apart. Shouts pierced through the barrier of trees before either of them could say anything - people were yelling about cops. Kyle dragged Stan back to the heart of the party. They grabbed their stuff and fled and didn’t talk about the kiss for another year or two, until after graduation when they both came out and started dating soon thereafter. 

And now the memory had resurfaced again almost twenty years into the future, with photographic evidence Stan didn’t know existed. 

“Stan?” 

Stan blinked and turned around. “What’s up?” 

Tweek was sitting at the island with two espressos. “You’ve been staring at my refrigerator for five minutes, man.”

Stan sat down. He held his espresso but didn’t take a drink, looked back at the photo on the fridge. “Kyle’s in that picture,” he said. “Did you ever notice?” 

Tweek frowned. “No, where is he?” 

“In the back you can see a little bit of orange,” Stan said. “That’s his Jewfro. We went on a walk.” 

“All I remember from that day is running away from the police,” Tweek said.

“Kyle kissed me.” 

Tweek’s eyebrows rose. “Oh.” 

“It was our first kiss,” Stan said. 

“_ Oh _.” 

“Yeah.” 

Tweek paused, then asked, “Are you guys doing okay?” 

Stan sighed. He ripped his eyes away from the picture and put his chin in his hands. “We’re fine,” he said. “Mostly.” 

“Is that why you wanted to talk to me?” Tweek asked. 

“I didn’t want to talk to you _ specifically _,” Stan explained. “I tried telling Craig about it but he freaked out.” 

“Craig isn’t good at talking about emotional issues,” Tweek said. “Which is weird, because he helped me with mine.” 

“That’s just cause you’re _ you _, dude,” Stan said. “He doesn’t have the patience for anybody else besides you and Sam.”

“Well, I’m here for you if you want to tell me about it,” Tweek offered.

Stan checked the kitchen doorway, but Sam and Rebecca were still upstairs, so the coast was clear. He leaned close to Tweek anyway. “It’s a..._ sex _ thing.”

Tweek choked on a sip of espresso. He set his cup down and cleared his throat. “Uh, does Kyle know that you’re - discussing this?” 

“He doesn’t like it,” Stan said, “but yeah.” 

“Is your dick not working?” Tweek asked. “You’re a little young for that, right?” 

“My dick’s fine,” Stan dismissed. “So is Kyle’s. It’s how we - how we _ use _ them that’s the problem.” 

Tweek’s nose scrunched up in confusion. “I don’t get it.” 

“That was a stupid thing to say,” Stan muttered. “Forget it. We know how to have sex.” 

“I don’t doubt that you do,” Tweek said slowly. 

“We just don’t really like it,” Stan continued. “Like, our preferences...don’t match up.” 

“Okay… I’m not trying to be mean, but - you’ve been together for like fifteen years,” Tweek said. “Shouldn’t you have figured out you’re not sexually attracted to each other a long time ago?” 

“Oh, come on,” Stan said. “It’s not _ that _. We had a gay sex sample platter every weekend when we first got together. But the novelty wore off. We found out what we liked.”

“Then everything should be okay,” Tweek said. 

“But it’s not,” Stan emphasized. “We like the same stuff.” 

“So what’s the issue?” Tweek asked. 

“Agh - “ Stan crossed his arms. “It’s embarrassing, okay?” 

“This entire conversation is already super embarrassing,” Tweek told him, which was an oddly Craig-type thing to say. “Just spit it out, man.” 

Stan huffed. His shoulders hunched. “Kyle and I - we both want to bottom,” he said under his breath. “_ Exclusively _.” 

Tweek digested Stan’s confession for a moment, then said, “Um, jeeze. That..._ is _ a problem.” 

“We’ve done this thing for years where we flip a coin,” Stan said. “Whoever wins the coin flip has to top. So the loser is the real winner. It was fine when we were in college. We didn’t see each other that much, so who cares, whatever’s worth it. But, you know, we’re older now. It’s not such a now-or-never deal. We both work, and we’ve got Rebecca to worry about. We just wanna fuck and relax sometimes. But it’s not cool when one of us isn’t really into it.” 

Tweek waited for Stan to go on, which he did, spewing subconscious thoughts which had been bottled up until now. 

“It’s not like I’m not _ attracted _to Kyle,” he said. “It’s not like I think his ass is gross or anything. I love him, dude.” 

“I know you do, Stan,” Tweek said. “So does Kyle. And so does everybody else on this planet.” 

“It’s not like I don’t like topping him - it makes him feel good. But I wanna feel good too. Topping just doesn’t do it for me anymore. Kyle feels the same way.” He shut up and took a giant gulp of coffee, waiting for Tweek’s response. 

“Huh,” was all Tweek said after a moment. 

“Yeah,” Stan sighed. He’d been hoping for better insight, but couldn’t blame Tweek: that was pretty much the same conclusion he’d come to himself. 

“I don’t really know what to say,” Tweek said. “Craig and I switch around.” 

“How do you decide that?” Stan asked. 

Tweek shrugged. “We don’t. It just happens.” 

Tweek appeared uncomfortable for a second, but then divulged more information. “It depends on the mood, I guess. And whoever’s more tired.” 

“How often do you do itt?” Stan asked. 

“Not much now that Sam’s older,” Tweek said. “For _ real _? Only a few times a week, in between work and boxing lessons and all. But we try doing quick stuff every night.” A blush spread across his face. “I can’t really go to sleep without it. It - it eases my nerves.” 

“Mine too,” Stan said. “Which is why I’m keyed up all the time. Like, we had the perfect opportunity to fuck last night with Rebecca out of the house. But we didn’t.” 

“You still, you know…” Tweek pantomimed a handjob/blowjob. “Right?” 

“Every now and then,” Stan said. “But the less we’re fucking the less sex we have, period.” 

“Maybe you should talk to someone who’s a little more...experimental,” Tweek suggested. “I know Butters and Cartman get up to some crazy shit.” 

“Ew - Jesus Christ.” Despite wanting to vomit at the thought of Butters and Cartman having sex, Stan’s interest was piqued. “...How do you know?” 

“Oh my god,” Tweek said. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous tic he had yet to let go of. “You can’t tell this to anyone, okay?” 

“I’m bad at keeping secrets from Kyle,” Stan warned. “He likes gossip too much.” 

“Fine,” Tweek relented. “You can’t tell anyone besides Kyle.” 

Stan nodded. “Okay.” 

Tweek took a deep breath. “Cylde told me and Craig that Token told him - “ 

“Dad!” 

“Shit,” Stan muttered. 

He quickly plastered a smile on his face and turned around. Rebecca came barreling into the kitchen with Sam at her heels. The two girls stopped before their fathers with their hands behind their backs. 

“Hey, Beck,” Stan greeted. “Watcha got there?” 

Rebecca’s red curls bounced as she giggled. “It’s a _ surprise _.” She elbowed Sam’s side. “Show yours first!” 

Being a year and a half older than Rebecca, Sam dutifully complied to the younger girl’s demand, albeit with a Craig-esque eye roll. “It wasn’t my idea,” she said, “but Beck wouldn’t do it if I didn’t make one too.” 

“What is it?” Tweek asked. 

“You know how we made friendship bracelets for each other?” 

“Sure,” Tweek said. 

“Well, Rebecca wanted to make friendship bracelets for her dads, too. I told her you can’t make your dads friendship bracelets - they’re your _ dads _, not your friends.”

“I’d like to think we’re friends,” Tweek told her. 

“We aren’t,” Sam stressed. 

“You’re ruining the surprise,” Rebecca accused. 

“Ugh, fine.” Sam stuck out her hand. Two matching bracelets hung from her fist. Made of string strung with plastic beads, they shared a moderately organized design. “They’re _ fatherhood _ bracelets. It’s stupid.” 

Tweek beamed. “That’s not stupid - I love them! Did you show your dad?” 

“He’s busy watching rockets,” Sam said. “He liked them, though.” She fingered a particular bead on one of the bracelets. “See? I put a moon on his.” 

“That’s very thoughtful,” Tweek praised. 

“My turn,” Rebecca interjected. She pushed Sam aside. Stan barely had time to set his espresso down before a pair of bracelets were dumped into his hands. “Tadah!” 

Stan held the bracelets up into the light. They didn’t match at all. It looked like Rebecca had put one of each type of bead on the strings, then tied them so small not even a baby’s hand could fit inside of them. “Awesome, Beck. Very cool. Which one’s mine?” 

“I dunno,” Rebecca shrugged. “Pick your favorite and try it on!” 

Stan chose one of the bracelets at random. “I don’t think it’ll fit around my wrist,” he said. 

Sam flicked a lock of black hair over her shoulder. “I _ told _ her they wouldn’t fit.” 

“Shut up, Sam,” Rebecca snapped. 

“Hey! It’s fine, Beck, look.” Stan hurriedly dug into his pocket and pulled out his keys. “I can just put them on my car keys, see? It’ll be like a keychain.” 

“I guess that’s okay,” Rebecca mumbled. 

“Go grab your stuff,” Stan said. “We gotta go home.” 

“Do I have to?” Rebecca whined. “Can’t I stay another night?” 

Sam sent a panicked glance at Tweek. She’d probably had enough of Rebecca’s presence for the week. Sometimes Stan felt that way too; his daughter seemed to have inherited the most hyperactive parts of his and Kyle’s personalities. 

“It’s Sunday,” Stan reminded her. “You have school tomorrow.” 

Rebecca stomped her foot and put on a mean face, looking exactly like Kyle. “That doesn’t matter! Sam skips school all the time!” 

“_ What _?” Tweek asked. “Craig - come here!” 

“Uhhhh,” Sam said. 

Stan bustled Rebecca out of the kitchen. “C’mon, Beck, let’s go!” 

/ 

So that didn’t work. 

It was nice to vent his frustrations, but Stan hadn’t gotten anything out of the conversation with Tweek besides a hint that Cartman and Butters had done something so heinous it caught Token’s attention, who told Clyde, who told Tweek and Craig. 

A week had passed since then. Rebecca told Stan that Sam was grounded “practically forever” for skipping school so they couldn’t hang out for awhile. Incensed, she laid around the house and complained which drove Stan and Kyle bonkers. Stan couldn’t imagine being so bored he’d rather stay inside with his parents instead of going out and finding something to do. But, to Rebecca’s credit, there were a lot less alien invasions, celebrity meltdowns, and apocalyptic close calls these days. 

A few days later Kyle was stretched across the couch, his feet in Stan’s lap, scrolling through his phone looking for a new recliner when a text notification dinged. He made a conflicted noise. 

Stan looked away from the movie playing on the TV. “What is it?” he asked. 

“Clyde and Bebe are having a cookout tomorrow,” Kyle said. 

Stan didn’t think he’d ever get used to how his childhood friends, the same people he’d seen eat shit and graffiti local businesses and compare their dick sizes, were now referred to in pairs like real adults. It wasn’t so much an issue with Tweek and Craig, because they’d always been together, and the same went for Stan and Kyle. But for the likes of Clyde it was just plain weird. 

“You wanna go?” Stan asked. 

“I don’t know. Clyde’s kind of a tool. But it sounds like a lot of people are going.” 

“Clyde _ is _ a tool,” Stan concurred. “Who cares if anybody else is there?” 

“They’re our friends, Stan.” There was a pause as Kyle rapidly tapped on his phone, then another ding. “Kenny’s gonna show up.” 

“Great,” Stan sighed. “I can’t wait to listen to him talk about sex with Wendy.” 

Kyle jabbed his foot into Stan’s stomach. “Don’t talk like that in front of Beck.” 

“She’s not paying attention,” Stan said. Rebecca was sprawled out on the rug in front of the TV, watching neon cartoon characters sing about the power of friendship or something. 

After affirming their daughter’s ignorance to the current conversation, Kyle continued: “Kenny doesn’t _ just _ talk about sex. Wendy told me he’s doing really well at his new job at the clinic. You could talk about that. You know, something that _ matters _.” 

“It still creeps me out how you and Wendy are friends,” Stan muttered. 

Kyle rolled his eyes. “She’s the only other person who really understands what a mess you are - of course we’re friends.” He leaned forward when Stan didn’t respond. “Dude, I was joking.” 

“It’s just stupid,” Stan said. 

“Me and Wendy being friends?” 

“No, Wendy’s a good person. I’m talking about Kenny. He’s always bragging about how much pussy he gets.”

“Maybe that’s only because you’re going around asking everyone about their sex lives,” Kyle said. “Anyways, Kenny doesn’t brag. Wendy would freak out if he commodified her like that.” 

“_ I _ wouldn’t mind being commodified,” Stan huffed. 

Kyle frowned. “What?” 

“Nothing. Forget it. Let Clyde know we’ll be there.” 

“If you’re going to be a dick then maybe we shouldn’t go,” Kyle said. 

Stan’s lips pursed. “I’m sorry, okay? I won’t be a dick. I’m a vegetarian ex-alcoholic. I’ll have a great time. I’ll just stand in the corner while everybody drinks and eats cheeseburgers.”

“Stan,” Kyle warned. “If you don’t want to go, we don’t have to.” 

“I want to go,” Stan said. “Let’s go.” 

“Fine,” Kyle said. He typed another message on his phone, then tossed it away. “There. I texted Clyde.” 

“Awesome,” Stan said. “Great.”

Kyle retracted his feet off Stan’s lap and got up from the couch. “Rebecca,” he barked. 

Rebecca glanced away from the TV. “Yeah?” 

“Are you hungry? Do you want chicken nuggets?” 

She jumped to her feet. “Sure!” 

Kyle held out his hand. “Okay, come on. I’ll make you some.” 

Stan looked over the back of the couch as they walked to the kitchen. 

“What’s up with Dad?” He heard Rebecca ask. 

“He’s being a tool right now,” Kyle said. 

“What’s a tool?” 

“It’s when someone is unagreeable. Don’t call anybody that, though. It’s a bad word.” 

Stan sank deeper into the couch and threw his arm over his face. His own daughter thought he was a tool, because his husband had told her so. 

Awesome. 

/ 

Stan and Kyle didn’t speak much that night. Stan came home in a sore mood the next afternoon; he had to guide a group of annoying middle schoolers at the wildlife park his entire shift and just wanted to relax. But there was the dumb cookout, so he had to wash up and actually put effort into his appearance and shit.

Fresh out of the shower, he heard the front door open downstairs. 

“Stan?” Kyle called. 

Stan peeked out from the master bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Up here!” 

Kyle’s loafered footsteps plodded up the stairs. He emerged into their bedroom frazzled and unkempt, screwing with the tie knotted around his collar. 

Stan clicked his tongue and swept forward. “Chill out, man,” he said, batting Kyle’s hands away. Kyle huffed and stood still as Stan undid his tie. “Long day?” Stan asked. 

“Just the usual bullshit,” Kyle said. He unslung the pleather messenger bag Stan bought for him one Christmas years ago and tossed it on their bed. “My mom wouldn’t stop talking my ear off when I dropped Beck off, I had to literally run to my car. And I got my ass chewed out by the managing partner.” 

Stan placed his hands on Kyle’s chest. “Holy shit. What for?” 

“He didn’t like how I handled last month’s hearing,” Kyle said. Kyle worked at a law firm as a civil rights attorney. Being a gay Jewish man, most people assumed he leaned liberal, but Kyle tried sticking to an objectively centrist, cut-and-dry outlook. “I’m _ sorry _ , but tweets aren’t sufficient evidence for a _ hate _ crime.” 

“I still don’t get how people can try that shit in the court of law,” Stan said. 

“People can try anything nowadays,” Kyle snapped. “They just throw it at a judge and hope it sticks. It’s a disgrace! But apparently my views don’t align with the firm’s beliefs.” 

“Whoa. You’re not getting _ fired _ are you?” 

“They can’t afford that,” Kyle said. “But my caseload’s gonna go way down. I might as well be a clerk again.” 

“Maybe you should look at another firm,” Stan suggested. 

“We’d have to move,” Kyle said. “Nobody else will hire me because they think since my dad was such a shitty lawyer I’m just as bad as he was. They see the name Broflovski and panic.” 

“Oh.” Stan’s hands fell to his sides. “If it - if it comes to that, would you _ want _ to move?” 

“I won’t uproot my whole family for my job,” Kyle said. He shrugged off his blazer, then started unbuttoning his shirt. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s only one guy that really hates me.” 

“The manager?” Stan asked. 

“The managing partner,” Kyle said. “He’s a cuck.” 

“Oh,” Stan said again. 

“How was your day?” Kyle asked. “I’m sick of talking about mine.” His shirt dropped to the floor, revealing a freckled chest interspersed with wiry red curls, and a soft midsection befitting his age. He scanned Stan’s own half-naked physique, which was more toned due to the nature of his career. “You look good.” 

“I was covered in gum and spit and dirt about half an hour ago,” Stan said. 

“Another field trip, huh?” Kyle asked. 

“It was terrible. When we stopped for lunch there were these two little boys who threw rocks at squirrels.” 

“Aw. “Poor squirrels.” 

“It sucks,” Stan sighed. “My whole job is to teach kids about the sanctity of nature, but I can’t do that if they’re mega assholes.” 

“I’m sure you inspired at least one future park ranger today,” Kyle said, which was what he said every time Stan had a tough day at work. He stepped forward and hooked his thumb under the towel wrapped around Stan’s waist. “Wanna blow off some steam?” 

Stan’s eyebrows rose. “Is that code for a blowjob?” 

“If you want it to be,” Kyle said. 

“I don’t - I don’t think we have time,” Stan said. 

“It’s okay if we’re late.” Kyle’s hand slid down and Stan’s towel fell to the floor. “I’ll be quick, I promise.” 

Stan grabbed Kyle’s shoulder, impeding him from inching down to his knees. “I’m fine, really.” 

Kyle frowned. “Seriously?” 

“I’m tired,” Stan said. “Maybe I’ll feel up to it later, after we eat.” 

“You want me to blow you in Clyde’s backyard,” Kyle stated.

“Uhhh. When you put it like that - “ 

“I’ll do it.” 

Stan blinked. “Huh?” 

“We haven’t done anything in a week,” Kyle said. “If you want to be an exhibitionist about it, that’s fine.” 

“I wasn’t serious,” Stan said. 

“Well, I am.” 

“It can wait till we get back home.” 

“I don’t want to wait,” Kyle said. “All I do anymore is wait for you to get in the mood.” 

Stan released Kyle’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Do you want _ me _ to blow _ you _?” 

“You shouldn’t have to ask,” Kyle said. “If you really wanted to, you’d get on your knees and do it right now.” 

Stan stood still. 

Kyle sighed and walked past him. “I’m going to take a shower.” 

Stan turned around. “Kyle - “ 

Kyle stopped in the bathroom doorway and apprehended Stan with a fierce stare. “There’s a case of NA Busch and a bag of ice in the car,” he said. “I’ll be ready in fifteen.” 

With that, he slammed the door shut. 

Stan stood in the middle of their room, naked and hating himself. He _ was _ a tool. The biggest tool in the universe. Who turns down a blowjob from their husband like that? Stan Marsh-Broflovski does. 

He put on a pair of hiking sandals, some nice khakis, and a red long-sleeved shirt because Kyle thought he looked good in red. Then, after coming his fingers through his hair and spritzing a few pumps of cheap mall cologne, he grabbed their handheld cooler from the kitchen and went outside to open up Kyle’s sedan parked beside his own mud-speckled SUV. 

Whacking the bag of ice on their driveway was an efficient way of venting his frustrations. Stan kept at it until the ice was broken into little snow cone sized particles, which he layered atop rows of NA Busch in the cooler. He’d learned to bring his own non-alcoholic beer after going through many awkward encounters after sobering up. Every party was a B-Y-O-N-A-B party for Stan.

He sat in the sedan listening to classic rock until Kyle came outside and joined him in the passenger seat, wearing jeans and a blue short-sleeved button down. 

“You look nice,” Stan said. 

Kyle stared out the window. “Thanks.” 

Stan withheld from rolling his eyes and started the car. 

The good thing about him being sober was that Kyle always had a designated driver. Kyle tried to not take advantage of this out of respect for Stan, but Stan had an inkling that he’d be carrying Kyle to the car come midnight. 

The cookout was in mid-to-full swing by the time they pulled onto Clyde’s street. Clyde and Bebe lived at the end of the block in a large home financed by Clyde’s automatic toilet seat dropper patent, which was inspired by his late mother. One could assume Bebe only got with Clyde for his sudden acquisition of money, if not for the fact that they started dating when Clyde still worked at Whole Foods. 

Vehicles were already lining the street in front of the house, forcing Stan to parallel park between Wendy’s Mazda and Token’s Mercedes. He cut the engine and watched Wendy and Kenny climb out of their car. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Be civil,” Kyle ordered him. 

“I _ will _,” Stan huffed. He reached into the backseat and retrieved his cooler. 

Kyle stepped out onto the sidewalk and smiled brightly. “Hey guys!” 

Wendy ambled toward him. “Kyle!” She gave him a quick hug, pulled back, and glanced at Stan. “Hey, Stan.” 

Stan shut his door and hit the key fob. Kyle’s sedan burped a little _ beep beep _ and flashed its lights. “Hey.” 

“He’s in a mood,” Kyle told her. 

“Quit gossiping, Kyle.” He rounded the car and turned to Kenny. “Sup, man?” 

“Yo,” Kenny said, lighting a cigarette - the one vice besides weed he couldn’t give up. That being said, he no longer had the same emaciated look he’d worn for most of his life. He gained weight after rehab, and, once they started dating, Wendy convinced him to get a haircut and lose his face piercings. He’d been carefully groomed under her care into a somewhat representable adult male, but there’d always be a freaky edge to his character that nothing and nobody could parse down. Stan envied him for it. 

“It’s been awhile,” Stan said with a hint of honest regret. “I miss you, bro.” 

Kenny tucked his pack of Camels and lighter into the breast pocket of the yellow Hawaiian shirt he currently donned. “Yeah, it’s been way too long.” 

Stan held out his hand. 

Kenny scoffed. “Fuck you, dude.” He brought Stan in for a tight hug, then yelled, “Kyle! Get over here. I need some Jew lovin’!” 

Stan stepped back as Kyle came over, and Kenny tackled him in an equally affectionate embrace. 

“It’s nice to see you, too, Kenny,” Kyle laughed. “We haven’t seen you in forever!” 

“Been busy with the new job,” Kenny said.

Stan remembered Kyle’s advice from earlier. “How’s that going?” he asked; Kyle sent him an approving glance. 

Kenny removed the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled. “Not too bad. Got my first _ client _.” He performed an egregious air quote at the last word. “Some punk kid hooked on coke.” 

Wendy joined them, toting a bag of food on her elbow, and slipped an arm around Kenny’s waist. Kenny tucked his hand into the front pocket of her jean shorts, swept his thumb underneath the fabric of her patterned blouse. They were so all over of each other it was disgusting. “He’s doing _ amazing _,” she boasted. “He really knows how to get through to the teenagers there.” 

“I bet it’s good for them to be able to talk to someone who’s been in the same spot where they are,” Kyle said. 

Kenny shrugged. “I mostly scare ‘em straight. Tell ‘em how fucked my life was before I got clean.” He looked at Stan. “Maybe you could come by and talk sometime.” 

Stan’s palms started sweating. He tightened his hold on the cooler. “I don’t know, dude. I don’t really like talking about that stuff.” 

“It ain’t no walk in the fuckin’ park,” Kenny said. “But it doesn’t just help the kids. It’s good to let that stuff out, man.” 

“Maybe,” Stan said. 

“I think that’s a _ great _ idea,” Wendy said. 

Kyle pressed closer to Stan’s side. Even though they were friends, Wendy’s leftover penchant for mothering Stan still irked him. “We’ll see,” he said, entwining Stan’s hand with his own. “Let’s just go in.” 

“C’mon, babe.” Kenny nudged Wendy, who dropped her lingering stare and followed him down the street; Kyle and Stan stayed back a few paces. 

“Thanks,” Stan muttered. 

“She still acts like she’s your girlfriend sometimes,” Kyle said. “We’ve been married for _ thirteen _years!” 

“She means well,” Stan said. 

“Kenny’s so passive, too,” Kyle went on, “which doesn’t help at all. She thinks she can tell everybody what to do.” 

Stan smirked. “I thought you were buddies.”

“I’m your husband first,” Kyle promised. 

“I thought you were mad at me.” 

Kyle sighed. “I _ am _. That doesn’t mean I won’t stick up for you! We made vows, Stan.” 

“Hey…” Stan pulled Kyle to a stop, the cooler ice rustling at his side. 

Kyle frowned. “What?” 

“I love you,” Stan said. 

“Oh.” Kyle smiled. “I love you too.” 

“I’m gonna suck your cock later.” 

Kyle let out a little yelp. “Jesus, Stan!” He looked down the sidewalk, but Kenny and Wendy were already at Clyde’s door, unaware. 

“Forget about them,” Stan said. “Fuck them. Look at me.” He leaned in and slotted theirs lips together. They pulled apart with a soft pop. “I _ love _ you.” 

“I get it,” Kyle said, his face flushed pink, “you’re sorry. Apology accepted. Now we need to hurry up, before Kenny tells everybody we’re having sex on the front lawn.” 

They jogged to the house. The living room was empty, so they followed the sound of talking and muted music out to the spacious backyard. 

Pretty much everyone they’d ever known who still resided in South Park was in attendance. Most of them bustled around the food tables, where Wendy was currently deploying some kind of casserole dish next to Butters, who had set out his famous cookies. Right behind Butters stood Cartman; he looked up and locked eyes with Stan. Stan offered him a lazy wave, and Cartman returned a mock salute. 

“It’s still so weird to me,” he said to Kyle after turning away. 

“What is?” Kyle asked. 

“Cartman and Butters. They’re over there by Wendy.” 

Kyle made a face. “Really?” 

“Really, what?” Stan asked. 

“You really think them being together is weird? It makes perfect sense.” 

“How?” 

Kyle shrugged. “Cartman clearly needs someone to baby him. Butters is the only person who’ll do that.” 

“Still,” Stan said. “I never thought it’d actually happen, you know. With how Cartman treated him.” 

“It probably wasn’t any worse than what he went through with his parents,” Kyle pointed out. “It’s just now he has a say in the matter. Butters is a grown man, Stan. He knows how to handle Cartman. Just look at how Cartman won’t go anywhere without him. _ That’s _ what I’m worried about.” 

“Okay, yeah,” Stan assented. “You’re right.” 

“I usually am,” Kyle said. He tugged Stan’s elbow. “Let’s go find a place to sit.” 

Bebe had strung lights all around the yard between the treetops. It was kind of tacky and reminded Stan of old high school parties, but perhaps that was the point. He and Kyle camped out at a couple lawn chairs near the bonfire, which was a stone’s toss away from the hot tub that buttressed the back porch.

Kyle patted Stan’s knee once they were situated. “I’m gonna go get a drink. You good?” 

“I’m not Cartman, jeeze.” Stan opened his cooler and grabbed a can of fake beer. “I’ll be fine. I’ll scream if there’s a problem.” 

“Please don’t do that,” Kyle said and walked off. 

Stan leaned back in his lawn chair. He took a sip of his NA Busch, scanning the yard, and spotted Tweek and Craig’s arrival on the back porch. Clyde jumped out of the hot tub, his colostomy bag visible over the hem of his swimming trunks, and immediately attacked his old friends with rancorous conversation. 

Tweek at least tried to keep up, whereas Craig ignored Clyde outright. He, too, recconnaised the premises. His gaze fell onto Stan. A chill went down Stan’s spine - he was definitely still pissed about the other day.

“Hey, there’s Marsh over there,” he heard Craig tell Clyde very loudly. “Why don’t you go bug him?” 

Clyde whirled around. “Stan! Buddy!” 

Stan straightened in his seat and braced himself. Clyde jogged across the yard, sopping wet, and stopped in front of him. 

“Hey, Clyde,” Stan said. He scooted back to avoid getting hit with droplets of water. “You’re pretty smoked already, huh?” 

“Ha! Yeah.” Clyde had a beard now because he thought it made him look masculine. Really it just brought attention to the fleshy quality of his face, especially when viewed from below. “I’m glad you came!” 

“Didn’t wanna feel left out,” Stan said. “Looks like everyone’s here.” 

“Token showed up a little bit ago,” Clyde said. “Don’t know where he ran off to. I sent an invite to Jimmy but obviously he couldn’t come because he lives in LA. And because he’s on _ tour _ and all.” 

“Yeah, I saw his Netflix special,” Stan said. “It was funny.” 

“Didja notice all the jokes about South Park?” Clyde asked. 

“That was pretty much his whole set, bud,” Stan said. 

“Right, right. Well! Token’s here. You’re here. I saw Kyle grab a beer. Tweek and Craig are here.” Clyde looked around his backyard. “Cartman and Butters, Wendy and Kenny… Some other people I don’t know that well. The whole gang!” 

“Where’s Bebe?” Stan asked. 

Clyde jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Inside. She had to fix her makeup. I dunked her head underwater when she was in the hot tub with me. She didn’t think it was funny, lemme tell you.” 

Stan gave them another five years before they filed for divorce. “That sucks.”

“She kinda sucks in general,” Clyde said. “And I don’t mean she sucks _ me _ . Because she doesn’t.” He dropped into the chair Kyle had vacated. “Stan, I need to talk to you. Man to man. I’m bouncing this - this _ problem _ off a lotta people. I need your opinion.” 

“Uh, sure,” Stan said. “Go for it.” 

“Bebe and I never have sex anymore,” Clyde sighed. “I know you and Kyle probably go down on each other every night, but…”

Stan choked on a sip of his NA Busch. Oh, shit. This was his worst nightmare come to life. He didn’t want to admit he and Kyle were having the same problem, because that meant they were on par with Clyde and Bebe, which just - was not okay at all.

He cut Clyde off. “Look - Clyde. Shouldn’t you, I dunno, be telling Tweek or Craig or Token about this? Like, we’re friends. But not… I mean, I don’t know you or Bebe as well as they do, is what I’m trying to say.” 

Clyde frowned. “What the hell, bro? I came to you because I respect you as a man.” 

“Why me?” Stan asked. 

“Because - because of your shoes,” Clyde said. He pointed at Stan’s hiking sandals. “Those are the shoes of a thirty-seven year old dad. I would know. My dad owned a shoe store.” 

Stan was seriously considering yelling for Kyle. “I’m not actually a _ man’s _ man,” he told Cylde. “First of all, I’m a vegetarian.” 

“You’re a _ what _?” Clyde asked. 

“I’ve told you this about a thousand times,” Stan said. 

“What next?” Clyde asked. “Is that beer even real?” 

“No. It’s non-alcoholic.” 

“Jesus,” Clyde muttered. 

“You’ve got the memory span of a goldfish,” Stan said. “Why don’t you go talk to Kenny? He’ll tell you all about how to crush pussy. Plus he’s, like, a psychologist now. I’m serious. He’ll give you good advice.” 

“Maybe you’re right.” Clyde got up from Kyle’s chair and held out his hand. Stan mirrored him, and Clyde clapped their hands together in a weird high-five/handshake. “This isn’t because you’re a fag, or anything.”

“I know, Clyde,” Stan said. 

“I think you’re a really cool dude,” Clyde continued. 

“Thanks,” Stan said. He gently retracted his hand from Clyde’s mammoth grip. “Go and talk to Kenny.”

Clyde thumped his own chest. “Right on, brother.” 

Stan suddenly remembered Tweek’s mention of Clyde from days previous. “Hey, Clyde! Hold up!” 

Clyde turned around and ducked back down to Stan’s eye level, hands on his squatted knees. “What’s up?” 

“I need to ask you about something,” Stan said. “Not right now. But later. Okay? It’s serious, though. You can’t tell anyone about it.” 

Clyde nodded. “Okay.” 

He whisked off to find Kenny. Stan watched him go, reconsidering the entire situation. There was no way he wouldn’t blab to somebody in his current state. If Token ever materialized, Stan would just ask him instead.

Kyle showed up again a few seconds later. He stood next to Stan, holding the neck of a beer bottle in his hand, and tracked Clyde’s retreating form with bemusement. “What was that about?” 

“Just Clyde being Clyde,” Stan said. “Uh, don’t sit down.” 

Kyle glanced at his seat. “Why is my chair wet?” 

“It’s from Clyde’s soggy ass.” 

“Gross,” Kyle said. 

“I know.” Stan pulled fished for a second chair from the vicinity and pulled it in front of his own. “Here, take this one.” 

“Thanks.” Kyle plopped down and took a drink of beer, then narrowed his eyes at Stan over the rim of the bottle. 

“What?” Stan asked. 

“You seem nervous,” Kyle said. 

“I’m not nervous. Clyde’s just annoying as fuck.” 

“If you say so.”

“I _ do _ say so.” 

Kyle rested his beer bottle on his knee. “Do you mind if I drink? I don’t have to.” 

“You can do whatever you want,” Stan said. “It’s not a problem.” 

“I know _ that _. But if you need me level-headed, that’s cool.” 

“And I’m not level-headed?” Stan asked. “I’m perfectly level-headed. Relax. Have some fun.” 

Kyle sighed and tipped his head back. Bebe’s lights reflected off his face and eyes, made his hair glow bright orange. “I want you to have fun too,” he said. 

“Soon enough everybody’s gonna be as smashed as Clyde,” Stan told him. “I’ll have plenty of fun watching you guys trip over each other.” 

Kyle’s lips twitched. “That’s true.” He looked down at Stan. “Still, we haven’t gone out just you and I in way too long. We should go on a date.” 

“Sure,” Stan said. “I’d like that.” 

Kyle pulled his chair up so that their knees touched and leaned forward. Stan curiously mirrored his position, waiting for Kyle to go on. But Kyle merely stared at him without saying anything. 

“What?” Stan asked. 

“I miss you,” Kyle said. 

A pang of guilt lanced through Stan’s chest. “I’m right here,” he said. “I’m haven’t gone anywhere.”

“You’ve been distant,” Kyle said. “I know it’s not just sex, either. I’m talking mentally. Emotionally.” He dropped back into his seat and had another drink of beer. “I’m worried about you.” 

Stan remained where he was with the hope that closing the physical gap between them could bridge the mental one. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t need to apologize for feeling bad,” Kyle said. “I just want you to be okay.” 

Kyle used to say stuff like that all the time during Stan’s early lows in sobriety, then again in his late twenties when he was plagued by residual psychological complications. Stan had hoped when he got off his meds after Rebecca’s birth things would even out, but perhaps he wasn’t completely fine yet. It’d make sense for Kyle to recognize the symptoms of another downward spiral before he did; Kyle was perceptive with things like that, especially when they involved Stan. Also, Stan still maintained that Kyle was a little bit psychic. 

But he’d been quiet for too long. He needed to say something. “I’ll talk to Kenny about it,” he promised. 

“Alright,” Kyle said, and let the matter drop. 

Once it seemed like everyone who was going to show up had arrived, people started grabbing plates of food and claiming seats around the crackling bonfire. Stan nominated himself as tribute and went to get dinner so that Kyle could save their spots. 

After slopping together a cheeseburger for Kyle, Stan piled his own plate with cottage cheese, baked beans, and chips. He already brought his own beer; if he brought his own food, too, he might as well have thrown a vegetarian/sober cookout for one in his backyard.

He nearly dropped both plates when someone sidled beside him, found Wendy grinning at him when he turned to see who it was. “It’s just me,” she said. 

Stan didn’t know if that was supposed to be sarcastic or not. “Uh, what’s up?” 

“I brought you something.” 

“What is it?” 

She guided him down the table. “Pasta salad. It’s not much, but...” She glanced at his plate of beans and moldy cheese. “I figured it’s better than nothing.” 

“Thanks,” Stan said. “Really. I appreciate it.” 

“Of course.” She glopped a helping of pasta onto his plate, then dunked the spoon back into her dish from home, a ceramic tray decorated in floral patterns. “So,” she said. 

Stan stood there juggling two plates of food. “So.” 

“You sicked Clyde on Kenny.” 

Stan sighed. “He was freaking about sex with Bebe. But I’m _ gay _; Kenny’s straight.”

“Kenny’s bisexual,” Wendy clarified. 

“Same difference.”

“It seems a little hypocritical, is all,” Wendy said. “Because I know _ you’re _ having trouble in the bedroom, too.”

“Jesus Christ. Did Tweek tell you that?” Stan hadn’t thought Tweek would openly spread his bullshit, but maybe he needed to reconsider their friendship. 

“No, it was Craig.”

Stan relaxed. That made sense. “Oh, okay. Wait - when did you two talk?” 

“I was at his school for work. I put together an outreach program for college students,” Wendy explained. She’d had channeled her political views into a practical occupation as a community organizer and sex educator, and had been at it for almost twelve years now. “Passing out condoms, pamphlets on STDs. Stuff like that.” 

“Sounds boring,” Stan said. 

“My work is very fulfilling,” Wendy said. “Anyway, Craig came up to my booth and asked if I had any extra large condoms.” 

“Typical,” Stan commented. 

Wendy smirked. “So I asked if he wanted ribbed or regular, flavored or not. He ended up taking a bunch of banana ones to save face. Then we met up for lunch. He told me about your...conversation.” 

“Craig’s an asshole. You shouldn’t listen to anything he says.” 

“He is a complete asshole,” Wendy agreed, “but he really was concerned. He said I might be able to offer my professional opinion.”

“I don’t need a diagram on the male reproductive system,” Stan told her. 

“I do more than give people diagrams, Stan.” 

“Or hand out condoms?” 

“You know, I wrote my thesis on the importance of intimacy for emotional and physical health,” she informed. 

“I’m sure it was very fascinating. But Kyle’s burger is getting cold, so. I gotta go.” 

“I’ll come with you.” 

Stan knew he couldn’t convince her out of tagging along. “Just don’t mention any of this to Kyle.” 

“Obviously,” she scoffed.

Stan lead her back to his spot near the bonfire. “Here,” he said, passing Kyle his plate, then sat in his own seat. “Wendy’s here, by the way.” 

“Hey, Wendy,” Kyle greeted without looking up, too busy maneuvering his plate into his lap. Stan noticed the beer bottle discarded at his feet, next to a second one already half-empty. Almost forty with plenty of drinking experience, Kyle was still a huge lightweight. 

Wendy pointed at the empty chair beside them. “Is this occupied?”

“By Clyde’s ass, previously,” Kyle warned. 

She shrugged and sat down. “I’ll survive.” 

“She made me pasta salad,” Stan told Kyle. 

“That’s thoughtful,” Kyle said. He stole Stan’s plastic fork, took a bite, and looked at Wendy in awe. “Wow. It’s really good.”

“All I did was make the first recipe that popped up on Google,” Wendy admitted. “I’ll send it to you.” 

Kyle nodded. “Cool.”

Stan reclaimed his fork and tasted the pasta salad himself. It _ was _ really good. He sent Wendy an appreciative smile, then swallowed and waved his fork at her. “Why aren’t you eating?” 

She shrugged. “I’m not hungry.” 

“Are you pregnant?” Kyle asked. 

Stan slapped Kyle’s leg. “Dude!” 

“No, Kyle, I’m not pregnant,” Wendy said. “I have an IUD.” 

Kenny’s voice suddenly arose near the trio: “Thank _ God _ for that.” He strode toward them and placed his hand on Wendy’s shoulder. 

Wendy’s expression and posture immediately softened. “Hey, baby. Do you want a seat?” 

“Nope.” Kenny dropped into the grass next to her chair. “I’m fine right here.” 

“Okay, then,” she said, amused. She balanced the heel of her sandaled foot on his knee. “How’s Clyde doing?” 

“Oh, I just spent half an hour telling him everything I know about cunninglingus.” Kenny glared at Stan. “_ Thanks _ for that.” 

“Sorry,” Stan said. “I didn’t know what else to do.” 

“You coulda taken one for the team!” 

“And tell him what?” Stan asked. “Bebe doesn’t strike me as the type of girl into anal.” 

Kyle snorted. “Not that you’ve had any practice with _ that _ recently…”

Stan shoved another bite of pasta salad into his mouth before he said something wrong and ended up sleeping on the couch later. 

Kenny forcefully grinned to diffuse the tension. “Most chicks aren’t into butt stuff.” He poked Wendy’s calf. “It takes a very special lady to let you into her rosebud, huh, babe?” 

Wendy directed a pointed look at him and kicked his shoulder. “Kenny, don’t be uncouth.” 

Kenny rubbed his shoulder like he’d been mortally wounded, huffing, “Why’s everybody so pissed all of a sudden?” 

“Kyle’s half-drunk,” Stan said. 

“Am _ not _,” Kyle snapped. 

“Eat your cheeseburger,” Stan ordered.

“I got something that’ll fix this,” Kenny said. He pulled his pack of Camels out of his breast pocket - but instead of procuring a cigarette, he brandished a joint. “Eh…?” 

Kyle rolled his eyes. “No thanks, Kenny.” He retrieved his beer and took a giant swig to show appreciation for his preferred intoxicant. 

“I’m game,” Stan said. 

Kyle coughed, spluttering his burger with beer. “Are - are you sure?” he asked, after wiping his mouth.

Stan scowled. “You said you wanted me to have fun.” 

“I didn’t mean smoke _ pot _,” Kyle said. “How’re you gonna drive home?” 

“That’s all you’re worried about? I’ll be fine.” 

“You haven’t smoked in, like, three years,” Kyle reminded him. 

“We can Uber home,” Stan said. 

Kenny piped up. “I was just kidding, guys.” Both Kyle and Stan ignored him. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kyle continued. “I’m not _ only _ worried about that. You get weird when you’re high.” 

“I don’t get weird when I’m high,” Stan denied. “I get high when I’m high. That’s the point of getting high.” 

“This is a bad idea,” Kyle said. He forgot about his soiled cheeseburger, which fell into the grass, and his beer, which sloshed all over his hand, as he leaned across the space between their chairs and perched his elbow on Stan’s armrest. “Stan, you’re thirty seven years old. You’re in a mood. You’re supposed to be _ sober _ . You _ cannot _ smoke pot!”

Stan shoved him away. “Fuck you, Kyle!” He jabbed a finger at Kenny. “_ Kenny’s _ thirty seven. And he used to be a methed-out _ cat piss _addict! If he can smoke, why can’t I?!” 

“Oh, boy,” Wendy mumbled. 

The party quieted instantly. Clyde froze in the middle of recounting a story to Tweek and Craig; Tweek stared at Stan worriedly, whereas Craig only looked bored and unsurprised. Further back, separated from the masses, Cartman directed shit-eating grin at Kyle, delighted to witness his marital problems, and Butters slapped a hand over his mouth. Everybody else, random acquaintances of Clyde’s or friends of a friend of a friend, tittered nervously, unsure of who to look at. 

Kyle rose from his chair. “Whatever, Stan. I hope you have a good time.” Their audience parted, leaving him space to stumble inside of the house. 

“Shit,” Stan sighed. 

“I’ll go after him,” Wendy volunteered. She jerked her head at Kenny, who got up at the same time. 

He prodded Stan’s shoulder. “C’mon, man.” 

Stan dropped his head into his hands. “I fucked up.” 

“You need to cool off,” Kenny advised. “Let’s go take a walk, alright? Just you and me.”

“I wanna take a walk with Kyle,” Stan said. “I was gonna suck his dick.” 

Kenny cracked a smile. “You’re probably not gonna see his dick for the next _ month _.” He waved at Stan’s curious onlookers. “Nothing to see here, ya jackasses. Leave the guy alone.” 

Clyde started back to attention. He snatched his phone out of his pocket and changed the music. Gratuitous rap blared through the back porch’s speakers, replacing the easygoing yacht rock that had been playing before. “Let’s do shots!” he yelled. “Hey - anybody seen my _ wife _?” 

Kenny turned back to Stan now that everyone was sufficiently distracted. “I’m counting down to three and lugging your ass out of that chair if you don’t get up _ right _ fucking now,” he warned. 

Stan released a long-suffering sigh. “Okay, okay…” He stood up, kicked open his cooler. “I’m so sick of drinking these things,” he said upon pulling out another NA Busch. “Feels like bringing a _ juice box _ while everybody else is pounding back vodka.”

“Hey - juice boxes are the shit,” Kenny said. He lead Stan around the back porch, then through the surreptitious side gate hidden within the backyard’s tall privacy fence. They passed Bebe’s rose bushes bordering the edge of the house; Kenny glanced over his shoulder at the second story window lit up above them. “Token’s fucking Bebe,” he said. “I’d bet twenty bucks on it.”

Stan looked at the window. “Screw that. Bebe’s a bitch, but she wouldn’t cheat on Clyde. And Token wouldn’t fuck his best friend’s wife.” 

“I fucked _ your _ wife,” Kenny pointed out. 

“Are you really bringing that up right now?” Stan asked.

“It’s a joke.” 

“I don’t know if anybody’s ever told you this, but you aren’t funny, Kenny,” Stan said. They arrived at the sidewalk. Stan kicked a loose chunk of gravel off the curb before embarking down the street. “Besides, Wendy and I weren’t _ married _.” 

“You guys dated for, like, ten years. You were practically married.” 

“I guess,” Stan rescinded. “I’m glad you’re with her now, though. You’re good for each other.” 

“Wendy’s pretty uptight,” Kenny said. “It took a lot to get her to unwind. And I guess she did the opposite to me. She practically saved my life.”

They passed under an overhanging streetlight. Kenny’s hair flashed to a flaxen hue, and an industrial barbell studded through his upper earlobe glinted underneath the golden strands. Stan had to admit that Kenny was incredibly attractive, even more so now that he was clean. He briefly considered inviting Kenny into a spontaneous threesome with him and Kyle, but the fantasy disappeared once they strode out of the light. 

“I shouldn’t’ve whipped that joint out,” Kenny said. “It wasn’t funny. I’m an idiot.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Stan said. The can of NA Busch condensed in his palm, dripped a trail of Morose code onto the sidewalk. He took a long pull off of it, just for something to do. “I was the idiot. Kyle’s right. I get weird when I’m high.”

“Why’d you say yes, then?” Kenny asked. 

Stan shrugged. “I don’t know. Because I feel old? It pissed me off when Kyle called me thirty seven.” 

“You _ are _ thirty seven,” Kenny said. “So am I. Weed can’t fix that.” He lit a cigarette and blew out a puff of smoke, chill as could be. 

“Then how’re you still so cool all the time?” Stan asked. 

Kenny laughed. “I’m not cool, man. I was a methed-out cat piss addict from sixteen to twenty nine.” 

“Sorry for calling you that,” Stan said. 

“Don’t be,” Kenny told him. “There’s nothing wrong with the truth.” 

Well, if that was the case… “I feel like everything’s falling apart all over again,” Stan confessed. “Just when I finally got my shit together.”

“That’s generally the way it goes.” Kenny flicked his cigarette, took another deep inhale. Tendrils of smoke punctuated his next commandment: “Life’s always raping you in the ass, but you gotta bounce back. Except when you bounce back, you get a cock in your mouth right from God himself. All veiny and shit. Huge balls slapping your chin.” He smacked his hand against the underside of his jaw. “Like this.” 

“So what’re you supposed to do?” Stan asked. “Spit it out?” 

Kenny shook his head. “Spitters are quitters, dude. You know that. You just suck it up and swallow. Hope it won’t taste too bad. But it does.” 

“And _ then _?” Stan prompted, beginning to lose hope. 

“And then you’re left alone,” Kenny said. “Crawling around on your hands and knees, covered in jizz. Eventually you’ll find somebody else just like you. The only way to wash the taste out of your mouth is to suck _ that _ person’s dick. So you do. And it’s not veiny. There aren’t any giant balls. Their dick’s like a corndog at the state fair. It’s so awesome you’d probably keep it in your mouth forever. But God’s back to rape you again. The difference is now you’ve got somebody there for you when it’s all over.” 

Stan stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. They were four houses down from Clyde’s now, standing next to Wendy’s Mazda. He looked at Kyle’s sedan parked behind it, noticed Rebecca’s second “fatherhood bracelet” hanging from the rearview mirror. 

“What if you’re sick of doing the same thing over and over?” Stan asked. “What if you’re sick of sucking dick - whether it’s God’s or - or the other person’s? What’re you supposed to do then?” 

“I dunno, man,” Kenny said. “It’s just a metaphor.” 

“Dude! You’re supposed to be _ counseling _ me.” 

“Okay, alright.” Kenny ruminated as long as it took for him to whittle away half his cigarette. “Get creative,” he said. “If you’re done sucking dick, finger them instead. Eat them out. The point is you can’t just lie there like a dead body and do nothing waiting for God to come around again. Because that other person, they’re getting fucked too, and they need all of that shit just as much as you do. If you’re outta the game, they’re outta luck. And that’s not fair on them.” 

Stan planted his ass on the hood of Wendy’s car. Kenny leaned next to him, and they stared at the sidewalk in silence. 

“Am I having a midlife crisis?” Stan asked after a while. 

“Do you _ think _you are?” 

“I don’t know. I think I’m going crazy.” 

“How’re you feeling?” Kenny asked. His voice changed to a tone Stan had never heard from him before - collected, robust, straightforward therapist talk he must’ve learned in school. Stan didn’t know how he felt about being psychoanalyzed. He’d never been too crazy about it when he was younger, but supposed it was best if coming from Kenny. 

“I don’t feel as bad as I used to,” he said. “I’m not depressed. I’m not about to, like, go off the deep end. I just feel...average. Everything’s just kind of _ there _.” 

“Even Kyle?” Kenny asked. 

“Especially Kyle,” Stan said. “It’s terrible. It’s awful. I look at him and I know he’s the same kid I fell in love with when I was nine years old, but…” He shrugged and took another drink of anti-beer from his juice box. “Things are different.” 

“What’s different about him?” 

“It’s not him,” Stan clarified. “It’s me. I’m, like, off my game. Big time.” 

“It’s probably just in your head,” Kenny told him. “You’re a fucking vegetarian, dude. You eat better than anybody I know. And you’re clocking in miles and miles of hiking with your job. So that rules out diet and exercise. You probably just need a break. Take a vacation.” 

“We can’t afford it,” Stan said. “Kyle’s getting his ass reamed at work. And business has been slow at the park.” 

“Then use up a couple PT days and relax,” Kenny suggested. 

“If I did that we’d just sit around watching TV or something. Nothing changes, even if we’re hanging out without work or Rebecca to worry about.” Stan sniffed and wiped his with his forearm, starting to choke up. “I’m _ telling _you man, nothing’s gonna fix it.” 

“Shut up,” Kenny snapped, back to his customarily brash timbre. “Cut it out with that horseshit. You and Kyle were _ made _ for each other, okay?” 

“I was at Craig and Tweek’s place about a week ago,” Stan mentioned. “I got so jealous seeing them acting all - you know - like they do. It about made me puke. Kyle and I used to be like that.” 

“You still are!” Kenny shoved off Wendy’s car and stood in front of Stan. “Obviously you can’t tell because your head’s up your ass. But it’s pretty clear that your relationship isn’t going to - to fucking _ disappear _ anytime soon - I mean, shit. Kyle was gonna kill Wendy’s nosy ass earlier, I could see it in his eyes. There’s gotta be _ something _ you can fix. Something specific.” 

And there it was. Stan sighed, looked away from Kenny’s insistent gaze. “We aren’t having sex.” 

“I kinda gathered,” Kenny said. “What’s up with that?” 

Stan shrugged. 

Kenny rolled his eyes. He plucked the cigarette from his mouth, tossed it to the ground and smashed it out, then stuck his hands into his pockets. “Dude. I’m a licensed psychologist now, in case you hadn’t heard. My girlfriend’s a sexpert - a sex expert. I’m the _ one _ person who can help you. Stop being a pussy.” 

“I’m not a pussy,” Stan mumbled. 

“You’re a pussy,” Kenny insisted. “A big, fat, juicy pussy. You’re the biggest pussy in the world - bigger than Bebe’s hooch, and she’s getting screwed by Token’s giant black cock right now, so.” He nudged Stan’s shoulder. “C’mon, man. Out with it.” 

“It’s dumb,” Stan said. “I’m risking my marriage over something so _ stupid _.”

“Which is…?” 

“Neither of us want to top anymore,” Stan finally confessed. He wiggled against the hood of Wendy’s car, uncomfortable. “We’ve - we’ve had this setup where we flip a coin. Whoever picks right has to top. We’ve done it like that for years. But it’s getting really old.” 

“Ahh,” Kenny said. “The cock’s outta the condom, finally.” He hopped up next to Stan, sent the car into a creaky bounce with his weight. “That’s not stupid. It makes sense.” 

Stan shrugged again. “I guess.” 

“What is it about bottoming you’re so into?” Kenny asked. 

“Jesus, Kenny.” Stan chugged another gulp of NA Busch, emptying the can, which he crumpled and shoved into his back pocket. “Why do _ you _ like getting pegged by Wendy?” 

“Cause she’s fucking hot,” Kenny said. “She’s my sexy little dominatrix. You wanna hear something embarrassing?” 

“Not really,” Stan said. 

“I like calling her mommy,” Kenny told him. “I like to suck her tit and pretend I’m drinking milk.” 

Stan shuddered, bombarded with horrible mental images. “Fuck, dude. That’s gross.” 

“It’s not gross! It’s just sex.” Kenny bit his lip and thrust his hips into the air. “She fucks her bad little boy pretty damn good, if you get what I mean.”

“I wish I _ didn’t _,” Stan said. He smacked Kenny’s arm. “Cut it out, or I’m gonna upchuck her pasta salad all over.” 

“Then tell me about you and Kyle, or I’ll keep going,” Kenny threatened. “Remember that autoerotic asphyxiation phase I had as a kid? _ Well _ \- “ 

“Alright,” Stan yelled. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you. Just shut the fuck up!”

Kenny settled down with a self-satisfied grin and put his chin in his hands like they were two girls at a sleepover. 

Stan huffed, collecting his thoughts. “I’m...sick of feeling _ old _, man,” he began. “And when Kyle fucks me, it’s so nice. It’s like I’m a little kid again. Which sounds really fucked up, I know.” 

“It’s the submission part of it,” Kenny said. “There’s nothing to control, no responsibilities.” 

“Yeah,” Stan said, “exactly. Especially when it’s Kyle. He’s my best friend, you know? He’s been with me my whole life. And when he takes care of me like that, it’s like I’m back in time or something. Back when everything was okay as long as I went and found Kyle.” 

“I assume he feels the same way about _ you _, more or less,” Kenny said. 

“Pretty much,” Stan confirmed. “So we’re stuck. We both need the same thing, but one of us loses in order to get it.” 

“Submission isn’t the same as getting _ fucked _ , though,” Kenny said. “I can be pounding Wendy’s snatch like a goddamn piston, and still feel like I’m an _ ant _ if she looks at me the right way.” 

“Kyle and I aren’t like that,” Stan said. “We’re not as...enlightened as you two are.” 

Kenny tossed his head back and laughed. “Enlightened! That’s hilarious. I’m so telling Wendy you said that.” 

“I don’t care,” Stan muttered. “The point is Kyle and I are out of options.” 

“Not really,” Kenny said. “You both need penetrated, I get it. Shove a butt plug in and go to town.” 

“No, no, no,” Stan stressed. “It’s not the physical part of it. It’s the emotional part. It’s all the parts put together. We can’t separate them or mix them together.” 

“Sounds boring,” Kenny said. 

“We’re very boring people,” Stan admitted. “We’re the most boring, vanilla fucking people in the world.” 

Kenny drummed his fingers against his chin. “Have you ever considered enlisting Token’s cuckolding services?” 

“Kenny!” 

“Or _ I _could. Wendy would probably love it if I screwed you guys.” 

“That’s it! I’m going back to the party.” 

Kenny’s arm snapped out and he grabbed Stan’s shoulder. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding, Stan. Well, not really, but at least now we know that’s off the table.” 

Stan shook him off and leaned back against the car. “It wasn’t ever on the table to begin with.” 

“Let’s just drop the table,” Kenny said. “Let’s get back on topic.” He paused, probably cycling through his endless library of sexual acts, which was larger than Porn Hub’s entire database. “Have you tried mutual masturbation?” 

“We’re not thirteen,” Stan said. “Of course we have. It was fun, but it wasn’t enough. We weren’t having sex together. We were having sex alone, but at the same time.” 

Before Kenny could offer another solution his phone rang. He frowned and pulled it out of his pocket. “It’s Wendy.” 

Stan’s face paled. “Shit.” 

Kenny answered. “Hi, Mommy.” 

Stan grimaced. 

Kenny dropped to the ground and strode a couple paces away. “Uh-huh. No, Stan hasn’t smoked. I haven’t either. Yeah, I know it was a bad move… Uh-huh.” 

“Is Kyle okay?” Stan asked. “Is he still pissed at me?” 

Kenny held out his hand. Stan proceeded to listen to his half of the conversation for the next five or so minutes. “Uh-huh. Oh…okay. That’s good. Uh-_ huh. _ Really, now? I totally called it. Wait - seriously? No fucking shit! That makes sense, I guess. Oh, totally… Wait till I tell him. Right. Uh-huh… Yeah, well, that’s probably for the best. No, Stan’s fine. I talked him off the edge. Okay. Love you. See you in a minute. Bye.” He ended the call and spun around. 

“What?” Stan asked. “What happened?” 

“A few things,” Kenny said. “Most importantly, Token _ was _ fucking Bebe.” 

Stan’s eyes widened. “What?!” 

“It gets better,” Kenny said. “Token was fucking Bebe and Clyde _ knew _ about it! Clyde’s a cuck!” 

“But - but how,” Stan spluttered. “Why?” 

“Dude, it’s Clyde,” Kenny dismissed. “Wendy said she and Kyle were talking in the kitchen when Clyde came blazing in super pissed off. He went upstairs and they heard him yelling about how it’s been long enough, blah blah blah, he’s throwing a party, they should come downstairs, it’s only supposed to happen on _ Thursdays _, anyway - “ 

“Jesus,” Stan said. “Jesus fucking Christ.” 

“Just wait,” Kenny said, practically bouncing up and down. “Butters and Cartman were with them - “ 

“With Token and Bebe?” 

“No, Kyle and Wendy.” 

“Why was Cartman there?” Stan asked. 

“Butters wanted to see if Kyle was okay,” Kenny said. “Cartman came with him. You know how he is, chained to Butters’ dick and all.” 

“I’m sure _ that _ improved Kyle’s mood.” 

“Oh, it did. I’m getting there. So, Clyde comes back downstairs, absolutely livid. Butters is all like - poor Clyde, Bebe and Token should respect his boundaries - you know, being super nice. The guy’s an angel.” 

“Butters is a saint,” Stan said. He waved his hand. “Get to the point.”

A chucked bubbled up from behind Kenny’s lips. “Oh, man. Okay, okay. So, Cartman looks at Butters. He says he doesn’t get what the big deal is. He says boundaries are stupid, that Clyde should be more like them. Butters freaks out. Tells Cartman to stop talking. Cartman’s pretty loaded by now, I guess. He just - he just says in front of _ everybody _ \- if Clyde’s gonna be such a bitch, they should keep Token full time. Token’s fucking Butters! Cartman’s a cuck, too!” 

“Ohhh my _ god _,” Stan said. “Oh my god.” 

“It makes sense,” Kenny said, “since Cartman can’t fuck Butters with his little micropenis. And he’s such a masochist. He probably creams himself with righteous, racist fury seeing Token take Butters to pound-town in his Mercedes - “ 

“I really don’t care,” Stan said. “I mean - I _ do _ , actually, because that’s fucking _ hilarious _ \- but I want to know if my _ husband’s _ alright.” 

“Kyle’s fine,” Kenny said. “Wendy and him talked it out. Don’t worry.” 

“Kyle told me she’s the only one who gets how fucked up I am,” Stan said. 

“Yeah,” Kenny said, “that’s true. She said she can’t break the Partner of Stan Marsh Club’s confidentiality code, so I don’t know what she told him, but I assume it was the right thing to say.” 

“Wait - the _ what _ club?” 

“Uhh...” Kenny shrugged, rolling with the accidental admission. “It’s this thing they came up with.” 

“Are you serious? They gave it a name and everything? And you _ knew _ about it?” 

Kenny ignored Stan’s questions. “Anyway, it’s all good. But they made a joint decision that you guys need to spend a night apart. Get your bearings and stuff. Tweek and Craig offered to take Kyle to their place, so,” Kenny slung his arm over Stan’s shoulders, “that means you’re coming home with us!” 

/ 

Kenny and Wendy lived on the edge of town five minutes from the highway, diametrically opposed to the wasteland that had become SoDoSoPa, Kenny’s old neighborhood. Their house was small and quaint but Stan knew that its interior was a testament to the free-spirited, eclectic quacks who lived there.

Rebecca’s bracelet hanging off the rearview mirror, as well as the drained cooler sitting in the back, rattled when he pulled into the driveway and cut the engine to Kyle’s sedan. He enjoyed the brief, silent respite thereafter, then braced himself for the rest of the evening. 

Wendy and Kenny got out of their car first. Stan followed suit. A faint nip chilled the air as an orchestra of hidden bugs played a discordant symphony. Colorado’s autumn was truly underway, chasing out summer’s last surge. There’d be the first signs of snow in little over a month. For now, Stan shivered only mildly uncomfortable, moseying from foot to foot behind the front step. Wendy finally located her house key and they all three funneled inside. 

“Please take off your shoes,” Wendy directed.

Stan obligingly toed off his hiking sandals into the pile of footwear that flooded the little mudroom. Down the hall, he was attacked with a wave of clinging incense fragrances and the smell of marijuana. He sat down on the couch in the living room, intending to pass out, but Kenny and Wendy stood in front of him like a pair of expectant parents. 

They were bedecked with stacks of sex positive literature Wendy took home from work, weird decorations, and asymmetrical religious iconography. Kenny had experienced what he called a spiritual realization in rehab and converted to Hinduism. He specifically worshipped Shiva, the god of death, destruction, and rebirth, for reasons he never told anybody besides Wendy. And Wendy, in a surprise twist of fate, found renowned interest in Christianity after they started dating, probably for the same reasons Kenny converted - though, she once jokingly told Stan that Kenny’s dick was so good it lead her to find God again, but he never knew whether or not she was actually serious. 

Two shrines sat side by side under the living room’s bay window across the couch. Stan focused on that instead of the couple in front of him, beseeching Jesus Christ and Shiva both for otherworldly assistance, but no help materialized from either deity. 

“Are you hungry?” Wendy asked him. “I’m need put this in the sink,” she said, and lifted her dish of pasta salad. “I can grab you something.” 

“I’m okay,” Stan said. He rubbed his eyes, beset with emotional rather than physical exhaustion. 

“Alright.” Wendy glanced at Kenny. “I’ll be right back.” 

“So,” Kenny said once she left. 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at her the same way after hearing you call her mommy,” Stan told him. 

Kenny snorted. “Sorry, bud. Hey, I’m gonna change. You want to borrow some clothes?” 

“I just want to sleep,” Stan said. 

“B-R-B,” Kenny said instead of acknowledging Stan’s plea for rest. 

Stan sighed and laid across the couch. He wondered how Kyle was faring at Craig and Tweek’s, if he was sobbing over a cup of coffee or simply fast asleep, unbothered. 

He heard a thump as someone sat down on the coffee table. He expected to find Kenny, but it was Wendy. She touted a glass of water and granola bar. 

“Just in case you change your mind,” she said, placing the drink and snack aside. 

“Thanks.”

She laced her fingers in her lap. “So, Kyle and I talked.” 

“Kenny told me about your _ club _,” Stan said, unable to hide his irritation. 

“I know,” Wendy sighed. “Don’t take personally. We don’t talk shit about you or anything.” 

“But?” Stan prompted. 

“But, we do discuss...stuff. Stan, you have to know you’re a very complicated person.” 

“Oh, I know,” Stan reassured. “Don’t worry.” 

“That’s not a bad thing,” Wendy said. “You wouldn’t believe the crap I’ve had to deal with from Kenny. And I don’t have _ anybody _to talk to about that.” 

Stan sat up against the couch’s armrest. “Why not? Me and Kyle have known him as long as _ you’ve _ known me. You could come to us.” 

“I really can’t,” Wendy said. 

“Is he okay?” Stan asked. He glanced at the hall then back, whispered, “Is he _ using _ again?” 

“Oh! Oh, no.” Wendy touched his arm. “If he was, I’d tell you immediately. After I kicked his ass first.” Her hand slid away, and she sighed again. “No, he’s okay. But there are some things we have to leave to the Lord.” 

“Right,” Stan said. He hoped she wouldn’t start praying. 

“I’m not going to pray over you or anything,” she said as if she’d read his mind. That type of thing still happened between them a lot. “Enough about Kenny, though.” 

“What did Kyle say to you?” Stan asked. 

“I can’t tell you that,” Wendy said. “Kenny wouldn’t tell me what you told him.” 

Stan knew that was a lie, and that they’d probably divulge their separate reports later on when Wendy pegged Kenny. But, whatever. “Sure,” he said. 

“Kyle told me what I already suspected,” Wendy said, “based on what you told me earlier. I’ll leave it at that.” 

“The sex stuff,” Stan guessed. 

“It _ is _ my area of specialty,” she grinned. 

“I learned way too much about your specialization from Kenny,” Stan told her. “I really don’t want to hear anymore.” 

“Kenny just wants you to feel comfortable. He probably didn’t tell you the worst of what we do. You’d take a vow of celibacy if he had.” 

“I’m already celibate,” Stan said. He flicked his finger up to the ceiling. “Praise be, right?” 

Wendy rolled her eyes. “My religion isn’t confined by antiquated morality.” 

“I know,” Stan said, to keep her from launching into a series of apologetics. “I still don’t get why you’re all…faithful. You used to be a giant atheist.” 

“That was before I got to know Kenny,” Wendy said. 

Stan’s brow rose. “Of course. Kenny McCormick is a paragon of godly conduct.” 

“More like a miracle,” Wendy snorted. “You are too, you know. You’ve come a long way, Stan.” 

He shrugged. “I guess.” 

“I’m serious,” she said. “You should be proud of yourself.” 

“That’s kind of difficult right now.” 

“It shouldn’t be. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just experiencing a reasonable struggle most couples go through.” 

“It’s not that reasonable,” Stan said. “It’s actually pretty _ un _reasonable.” 

Wendy got off the coffee table and sat next to him. “Tell me about it.” 

“Why’re you tag-teaming me?” Stan asked. He turned. “Where’s Kenny? Why’s he taking so long?” 

“Kenny will return shortly,” Wendy said. “Tell me what’s going on.” 

“That’s not fair,” Stan huffed. “You can’t hear from Kyle and me _ both _.” 

“Do you want my help or not?” 

“I didn’t _ ask _ for it,” Stan said. 

“Maybe not,” Wendy said, “but you’ve found it anyway. There’s a reason for that.” 

“There isn’t a reason for anything,” Stan said. “Shit just happens. Don’t turn this into a thing.” 

“I’ll quote the Bible if you don’t start talking.” 

“Wendy, please…” 

Wendy cleared her throat. “Ephesians 4:2 - ‘Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love - ‘“ 

Stan straightened. “Don’t - don’t start that shit, alright?” 

Wendy smiled. “I’m listening...”

“Ugh.” Stan ran a hand through his hair. “I’m so sick of talking about this,” he sighed. 

“Maybe this can be the last time,” Wendy said. 

“Fine,” Stan said. It didn’t matter, anyway. He doubted Wendy or God himself could help him now. “But I’m giving you the short version.” 

“Okay,” Wendy said. 

“Kyle and I are bottoms,” he said. “That’s it.” 

She frowned. “That’s it?” 

“Yeah,” Stan said. “Kenny already tried telling me a bunch of stuff we could do, but none of it’ll work. So save your breath.” 

“That can’t be _ it _,” Wendy said. “That’s what you’re so hung up about? Bottoming?” 

“It’s not just bottoming,” Stan said. “Well, it is. But also not. It’s the feeling of it. Neither of us want anything else.” 

“I understand,” Wendy said. “My job is all about sex.” 

“I _ know _,” Stan groaned. “You and Kenny are the ultimate sex gurus, I get it.” 

“What’s so wrong about it?” Wendy asked. “You both want the same type of safety, a sense of being nurtured. You and Kyle are very sensitive individuals. Of course you’re both bottoms, Stan. You guys didn’t have to tell me that.” 

“Then what else do you want from me?” Stan asked. “I can’t tell you anything else.” 

“Hmm.” Wendy paused. “Do you use toys?” 

“Kenny already asked about butt plugs.” 

“I’m not talking about butt plugs. I’m talking about something different.” 

“Uh…” 

Wendy stood up. “Kenny?” she called. “Did you find it?” 

“What’s going on?” Stan asked. 

Wendy flapped her hand, commanding him to be quiet. “Babe?” 

“I found it!” Kenny shouted from down the hall. He walked into the living room toting a large, velvet drawstring bag. 

“You’re going to like this,” Wendy told Stan. 

He looked between Wendy and Kenny. “_ What _ is it?” 

Kenny loosened and upended the bag. Something long and heavy flopped onto the coffee table. It looked like a silicone anaconda.

Stan leaned forward. A closer inspection revealed it to be a massive, double-headed dildo. “What the _ fuck _.” 

“We haven’t used it yet, don’t worry,” Wendy said. 

“It’s brand new,” Kenny added. “Check it out.” 

Stan reeled back. “You’re crazy. I’m not touching that.” 

“It’s just plastic, dude.” Kenny grasped the thing by its middle and waggled it around. “See? It’s harmless.”

Stan slapped it out of his face. “Knock it off!” 

“It’s a dildo you can share with another person,” Wendy explained. 

Stan sent her a stricken look. “Clearly!” 

“Besides cuckolding, this is your best bet,” Kenny said. 

Wendy tacked on a sage nod. “From what you told us, I think it’ll definitely do the trick.” 

“How do you even use it?” Stan wondered aloud. 

Kenny smirked. “Want a live demonstration?” 

“Kenny!” Wendy wrested the dildo from his hold and set it down, then turned to Stan. “I’m sure you and Kyle can figure it out yourselves.” 

“I’m so done with both of you,” Stan said. He laid down and turned his back to them. “Goodnight!” 

Wendy sighed. Stan heard her return the dildo to its bag. “I’m going to bed.” 

Her footsteps retreated. Stan relaxed. Then, Kenny whispered into his ear, “Hey, dude - “

Stan startled, jolting upward. “Damn! What the hell do you want now!?” 

Kenny put his fingers to his lips. He pulled a bottle of lube out of his pocket, placed it on the coffee table, and winked. “Enjoy yourself, _ mi amigo _.” 

Stan dropped back into the couch. “_ Goodnight _, Kenny.” 

Kenny saluted him. “Night.” 

Stan watched him walk off. Then he waited for anymore interruptions, or at least the sound of distant lovemaking. But it seemed that Wendy and Kenny really were going to sleep. 

He sent a quick text to Kyle - _ I love you _ . Kyle’s reply was instant, but just as sparse: _ I love you too _. 

The dildo’s sillohuette mockingly protruded from its velvety confines in an outline of shadow. Stan mumbled a curse under his breath and reached out to measure its girth. It fit in his hand, but just barely. He tracked its curved length to its opposite end, then let go, wondering what the fuck he was doing. 

He looked at the bottle of lube, the granola bar, the glass of water. This was totally planned. Those conniving assholes. Still, Stan couldn’t deny his childish sense of curiosity. He sat up and templed his fingers under his chin and stared at the array before him. 

There was only one thing to do. 

/ 

Stan woke up with a sore asshole after the best sleep he’d had in ages. He declined to partake in the water or granola bar after finishing his dastardly deed - in full view of Jesus and Shiva, no less - so as to not tip off Wendy and Kenny, and had even waddled into the hallway bathroom and washed the dildo off, along with his dick and ass, to get rid of the resulting smell. 

He heard muffled sounds of conversation as his two hosts woke up, laid on the couch as stiff as a board when they walked out to the living room. 

“Morning, Stan,” Wendy cheerfully greeted. She stood in the doorway wearing nothing but an old t-shirt of Kenny’s. “Want any breakfast?” 

“Uh, sure.”

Kenny peeked around her shoulder, his tattooed chest and arms on full display. A thatch of pubic hair erupted from the hem of his boxers. “Have a good night?” 

“Uh, sure,” Stan repeated.

Wendy and Kenny shared a glance. They knew. They totally knew. But they didn’t say anything. 

Stan crawled off the couch. None of his joints popped. His body felt loose and limber, sated by pleasure it had been withheld for so long. He followed the couple into their brightly colored kitchen. Wendy started making pancakes. Kenny brewed a pot of cheap java in a thankfully simple coffee maker and poured out two cups. 

“I’m going out for a smoke,” he announced. “Come with me, Stan.” 

Stan sighed and rose from the table. Kenny lead him outside. They sat on the front steps, nursing their coffee in silence. 

“What’d you think?” Kenny asked after lighting his cigarette. 

Stan palmed his face. “Was I that obvious?” 

Kenny blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “To a trained eye. You’re all mellow.” 

“I feel pretty mellow, to be honest,” Stan admitted. He looked down at the dark surface of his coffee, reflecting on his little midnight experiment. It wasn’t using the dildo that made him feel so good - he’d used plenty before. No, it was fantasizing about its intended purpose that really got his rocks off. “I hope Kyle’s down to try.” 

Kenny cupped a reassuring hand over his knee. “He will be.” 

Stan grinned. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” 

“Anytime, bro. I’m serious.” Kenny’s gaze sharpened. “If we don’t ever have a foursome I’m going to regret it for the rest of my lives.” 

Stan chalked Kenny’s strange choice of wording up to his religious inclinations. “Maybe if you’re on your deathbed. Like Make-a-Wish.” 

Kenny chuckled a bitter laugh. “Sure. I’ll hold you to it.” 

Stan cocked his head. Wendy’s cryptic ponderings came back to him. “Is everything cool with you? Should I be worried?” 

“Nah,” Kenny said. He slapped Stan’s knee and retracted his hand. “It’s all okay. Namaste.” 

“Namaste,” Stan returned. 

/

Stan didn’t stick around for long, eager to get back home. Plus Wendy and Kenny kept making eyes at each other over their pancakes. He bid them an earnest goodbye, gave them each a hug, and set off with his ridiculous parting gift. 

The house was blissfully quiet when he stepped inside. Rebecca would be at her grandparents for another night, and, as much as he loved his daughter, Stan was thankful for it. He hid his new best friend in the TV stand, unsure of another inconspicuous spot where it would fit, and headed upstairs. 

“Kyle? Are you home?” 

“In here,” Kyle said. 

Stan strode into their bedroom and found Kyle perched on the bed, presumably just out of the shower, wearing a threadbare t-shirt of Stan’s from the Rocky Mountain National Park, his curls dampened to a clean burgundy. 

“Er, hey,” Stan said. 

“Hi,” Kyle said. He unfolded his legs and rose off the bed. “Before you say anything, I just want to apologize - “ 

“What? No,” Stan cut off, “I’m the one who should - “ 

“_ Stanley _,” Kyle enunciated. 

Stan kept quiet. Kyle walked toward him and took his hand; his whole being unwinded at the contact.

“I was being an ass,” Kyle said. “I was drunk. I said that stuff just to make you mad.” 

“It’s okay,” Stan murmured. “I’ve been shitty lately. I know I can be...frustrating to deal with.” 

“Still,” Kyle pressed. “I shouldn’t have been so pushy before the cookout, either. I should’ve backed off, respected your boundaries.” 

“You were right, though,” Stan said. “About all of it. You’re always right.” 

Kyle rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to flatter me.” 

“I’m not. I’m being completely honest. You always know what’s best for me.” 

“Stan…” 

“I need to take a shower,” Stan said. “Wendy and Kenny’s place reeks. Do I smell like weed?” 

Kyle smirked. He lifted the sleeve of Stan’s shirt and took a sniff. “Maybe frankincense and myrrh.” 

“Wendy lobbed the Bible at me,” Stan told him, “and I think Kenny mentioned reincarnation, or something.” 

“They’re fucking weird,” Kyle noted. 

“Really weird. Did you know Kenny’s into mommy stuff?” 

Kyle closed his eyes at the information. “I could’ve gone my whole life _ without _ knowing that.” 

“Sorry. I couldn’t handle it on my own.” 

Kyle looked at him. “You can’t handle anything on your own. That’s why I’m here.” 

“Back at ya,” Stan whispered. 

Kyle pressed his cheek into Stan’s chest. “I missed you.” 

Stan snorted into the wet crown of his head. “Tweek and Craig were that bad, huh?” 

“It was just fine,” Kyle said. “Almost _ too _ fine. They’re very saccharine.” 

Stan frowned and pulled back. “What’s that mean?” 

“It means they’re boring,” Kyle said. “I don’t think they’ve had a single fight in fifteen years.” 

“Speaking of,” Stan segued. “I need to hear everything about what happened at Clyde’s after I left.” 

“Oh, definitely,” Kyle drawled. “It was an absolute shit show. One of the craziest things I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot.” 

“We’ll talk about it later.” Stan disengaged, because if he didn’t they’d be glued together for the rest of eternity. “Give me ten minutes.” 

Kyle nodded. “I’ll be waiting.” 

Stan jumped into the shower immediately, too impatient to wait for the water to warm up, and passed a quick pump of shampoo through his hair, focusing most of his cleanly attentions to his asshole. He hoped Kyle had done the same. He washed and dried off in record time, belatedly realized he forgot to grab a fresh set of clothes, and stomped out with nothing but a towel around his waist. 

Sitting on the edge of their bed, Kyle ceased twiddling his thumbs, and blinked. “Hello, there.” 

“General Kenobi,” Stan finished, then added, “I forgot clothes.” 

Kyle pointed at the dresser. “I could get you some…?” 

“Nah.” Stan shook his hair out, flipped his bangs back. “Hey, listen. I got you something. Actually, Kenny and Wendy gave it to me, but it’s for both of us.” 

“Um, okay.” 

Stan took a deep breath. “I’ll just, uh, go get it.” 

“Should I be nervous?” Kyle asked. 

“No,” Stan said. “Well, I mean. Just wait here.” 

Kyle gave him a confused smile. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.” 

“Good. That’s good.” 

“So?” 

Stan held his hands out. “Right! Don’t move.” 

He ran downstairs and fetched the behemoth fuck machine. He wasn’t sure whether carrying in a giant dildo or a massive velvet bag would be worse. In the end, he stuck with the bag, if only so Kyle wouldn’t pass out the second he crossed the bedroom’s threshold. 

“_ What _ is that?” Kyle asked when he reappeared. 

“I was freaked out too,” Stan said. He licked his lips and placed the bag next to Kyle. “Go ahead and open it.” 

Kyle looked at him, then at the bag, then crossed his legs and pulled the toy out. He appraised the silicone length with a critical eye, turning it this way and that. 

“It’s a dildo.” 

“It’s not _ just _ a dildo,” Stan said. He took the other end in his hand. “See?” 

“It’s a _ double _ dildo,” Kyle rectified. 

“Uh, yeah. For both of us.” 

Kyle looked up. “Kenny and Wendy gave this to you? Did they _ buy _ it for us?” 

“For themselves, I think. But they haven’t used it yet! At least, that’s what they told me…” Stan coughed. “We don’t..._ have _ to, I just thought it’s, y’know, worth a try…” 

“Do we even own enough lube for this thing?” Kyle asked. 

“Sure we do,” Stan said. “Not like we’ve been using much of it.” 

Kyle’s expression soured. “That’s fair.” 

Stan shuffled his feet. “I know it’s sudden and all, but - “ 

Kyle released the dildo and reached up to touch Stan’s cheek. “Stan. Honey. I will try anything at this point.” 

“Right - right now?” Stan asked. 

Kyle nodded. 

Something tight within Stan’s chest broke open like a dam. “Awesome.” 

Kyle’s thumb swept across his bottom lip. “Alright, then…?” 

“I gotta do something first,” Stan said. 

Kyle lowered his hand. Stan could tell by the tense line of his shoulders he was trying to hide his displeasure. “Oh, okay.” 

Stan smirked. He moved the dildo out of the way and nudged Kyle’s knees apart. Surprised, Kyle leaned back on his hands, looked down. “What’re you - “ 

“I promised you a blow job, dude. And a blow job you shall receive.” 

Kyle shook his head. “You’re so dumb.” 

He pulled Kyle’s ass flush with the edge of the bed and dropped to the floor. The towel unraveled and fell from his hips. He glanced up in time to see Kyle’s throat bob, his freckles disappearing under a blush. 

“Don’t look at _ me _ \- get on with it,” Kyle ordered. “I’ve been waiting long enough.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He yanked Kyle’s pants down unceremoniously. Kyle’s circumcised dick flopped out, unhindered by underwear. Stan’s mouth watered at the sight. He grasped Kyle’s shaft, knuckles rubbing against russet pubic hair, and jacked his hand up and down in a well-known rhythm. 

“You’ve got the best dick,” he sighed. 

“Thanks,” Kyle grunted. “Grew it myself.” 

“Really swell job,” Stan said. “Ten outta ten, across the board.” 

“Talk less, suck more dick,” Kyle snarked back. 

Stan shut up. Considering how long it’d been since either of them had partaken in sexual contact, there was barely any time between Stan’s initiation and the formation of Kyle’s erection. Stan picked up the pace, helped along by the water still coating his palm, but he knew things would dry out quick. 

“Lube?” he asked. 

“Uhh.” Kyle stretched for the end table drawer and tossed a plastic bottle at Stan’s head. 

“Ow!” 

“Sorry. Bad aim.” 

Stan caught the bottle against his chest and set it on the floor. He pumped two loads into his other palm and switched hands; his one and only ambidextrous skill. Kyle’s hips jutted into his loose fist. A bead of pre-cum emerged, pearlescent in all its glorious potential. 

“Stan,” Kyle gasped. His hand flew out and sought Stan’s shoulder. 

“I know, honey,” Stan said. “I’m on my way.” 

Kyle cupped the nape of his neck and pushed his head down. Stan moaned, the sound echoing around the room, right into his own dick. He felt himself hardening against his thigh as he circled his lips around Kyle’s glans. 

Kyle sucked in a breath. His hips froze and he dug his nails into Stan’s neck. Stan’s nostrils flared at the sharp string of pain. He called upon decades of practice and widened his mouth, swallowing Kyle’s shaft, and grasped the base of his own shaft in his other fist. Noticing this, Kyle brought another steadying hand to his opposite shoulder. 

Stan eased up, then went back down, again and again, his tongue tingling with lube. Drool collected in the hollows of his cheeks and dribbled out of his mouth. Red pubes tickled his nose - he _ really _ hoped he wouldn’t sneeze. That would suck. 

“_ Mmgh _ \- oh, Stan,” Kyle preened, tangling his fingers in Stan’s hair. “I - _ unh _ \- missed this.” 

“_ Mm foo, _” Stan mumbled. 

A laugh rippled through Kyle’s belly and caused his dick to twitch. “You what?” 

Stan pulled off with a pop and looked up through his mussed bangs. “M-me too.”

Kyle stared down at him, eyes blazing. “You look so hot. Come here.” 

Stan glanced at Kyle’s dick. “But - “ 

Kyle tugged his hair. “Stan!” 

“Okay! I’m up.” Stan rose with a mild protest from his knees, and crawled into Kyle’s lap. 

Kyle tossed his arms over Stan’s shoulders; Stan torqued under the weight of the embrace, craned his neck - their lips met in a sloppy kiss; Kyle whined at the taste of himself on Stan’s tongue. 

Stan dragged his bottom lip over Kyle’s top lip, rested his forehead against Kyle’s temple, and took a breath. “Kyle,” he muttered. “Kyle, we’re not - we gotta hurry it up, I’m aboutta blow my load just _ kissing _ you - “ 

“That’s gratifying,” Kyle said. His palms raked down Stan’s naked chest, to his dick, then around to the pucker between his ass cheeks. Stan whimpered, flexing at the touch. His dick spurted a dollop of pre-cum that dripped onto Kyle’s hairy thigh. “How you wanna do this?” 

Stan would never understand how Kyle could still _ talk _ so much whilst preoccupied. He was a great multitasker. “Do w-what?” 

Kyle pressed the pads of his fingers against Stan’s hole. “Open up.” 

“Hhgh - _ honey, _” Stan croaked. “I dunno…” 

“Let’s sixty nine,” Kyle suggested. 

“Like that dime,” Stan said. 

Kyle looked up. “What dime?” 

“Y’know…” Stan swiveled his ass back against Kyle’s fingers. “That dime…” 

Kyle’s brow furrowed. “You mean the _ dime _ from last time?” 

Stan snorted a puff of hair. “Yeah.” 

“Jesus,” Kyle said. “What a Chekhov’s gun.” 

“What?” 

“Forget it,” Kyle said. He curled his fingers one last time, then laid Stan onto his back. “I don’t wanna talk about that dime, or any other coins, ever again.” 

Stan nodded into the bedsheets. “Kay.” 

“We’re not flipping anymore coins,” Kyle said. He turned onto his side and shoved his pelvis into Stan’s face. “Where’s the lube?” 

“On the floor,” Stan mumbled, currently lathing his fingers over Kyle’s dick. 

“Fuck,” Kyle cursed. He curled over Stan and stretched a gangly arm beyond the edge of the bed. “Catch!” 

The lube bottle smacked Stan in the face for a second time, jolting him out of his daze. “Ouch, you fucker! Stop hitting me!” 

“I’m sorry!” Kyle sat up and kissed Stan’s forehead. “Is that better?” 

Stan grumbled and wiggled his hips. “Just finger me already.” 

“Okay, hon.” Kyle portioned an excessive amount of lube and resituated himself. 

A cold, probing touch glided past Stan’s scrotum. “_ Hggh _,” he intoned, hitching his leg up and bending it at sharp angle. He flapped for the lube, finally located it, and squirted a handful, then gave Kyle’s ass the same exploratory treatment. 

They both writhed and whimpered like two bitches in simultaneous heats, lathing each other’s assholes, too jittery to accomplish true penetration. Eventually, Stan pressed onward with the expedition, using the meat of Kyle’s thigh as a handhold, and dug in two slippery fingertips. A choked off squeal warbled out of Kyle’s throat and his entire body jerked down on the intrusion. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Stan huffed, nosing his face between Kyle’s legs, unmindful of the thighs restricting his skull with enough force you’d think his cranium was undergoing a fracture test. He was glad for the brace a moment later when Kyle breached his own asshole, would have otherwise rocketed off the bed and broke through the ceiling. 

“I missed your ass,” Kyle panted. His thumb haphazardly clawed at the thin patch of skin directly above Stan’s opening. 

Stan chuffed. “C’mon,” he goaded, “I was workin’ all night - I can take it - “ 

Kyle’s fingers paused at the first knuckle. “You mean…?” 

“Took the double dildo for a trial run,” Stan told him. “Jesus watched me do it.”

Kyle slipped in a third finger without warning, shoved his digits all the way in. “So this is fine?” 

Stan hurriedly nodded against Kyle’s ball sack. “Mmmmhmm!” 

“Well, I’m right behind you,” Kyle informed. “Don’t take your time.” 

Stan could barely think, let alone parse Kyle’s statement for any go-ahead. He thoughtlessly crammed another finger in, hoping that was the right choice. His hunch was confirmed when Kyle’s thighs squeezed his head so hard stars burst across his vision; he wondered if this was where Kenny’s autoerotic asphyxiation story would’ve headed. 

At this point, if they had more time, Stan would attempt to give Kyle a handjob while attempting to make use of his entire fist, but they didn’t have time. They’d have time for more time later, but right now they were almost out of time. And yet it didn’t feel like time existed at this moment. Time didn’t mean anything. The only thing that mattered was Kyle’s ass, and Stan was completely fine with that.

“Stan,” Kyle said, once they’d scissored each other to shreds. “Are you ready?” 

“Uhhh, yeah,” Stan mumbled. 

Shakespeare was right: parting is such sweet sorrow. Stan mournfully removed his fingers from Kyle’s ass. In a stroke of genius, he gave the sphincter a goodbye kiss; Kyle groaned so loud Stan worried his soul had left his body. 

“Again,” Kyle said. 

Stan gave his ass another peck, this time with tongue. But he couldn’t lay there and French Kyle’s butt all day, no matter how good it was, so he lifted his head and smacked his lips. 

Kyle’s wrist twisted as Stan rearranged himself, but Kyle wasn’t a man easily cowed. He followed the shift, digging deeper, and swiped Stan’s prostate with a final kitty curl of his fingers. 

Stan about vomited, he was so fucking moved, and tears sprung to his eyes. “Kyle, stop it - I’m - I’m - “

“Shhh,” Kyle whispered. He kissed Stan’s ass check and removed his fingers, used his dirty hand to pet Stan’s shivering flank. “It’s okay, honey.” 

But Stan couldn’t pull it together, and he exploded into broken sobs.

Kyle’s face cleared with a flash of concern. He scrambled up to his knees, pulled Stan against his chest, rubbed Stan’s back. “Don’t cry, Stan, it’s okay. We’re okay. Nothing’s the matter.” 

“I’m sorry,” Stan blubbered. “I’m sorry, Kyle.” 

“Hey…” Kyle forced his chin up. “What’re you sorry about?” 

“We shoulda done this forever ago,” Stan sniffed. “I’m sorry I’m such a cuck.” 

“We’re doing it _ now _,” Kyle said. He released Stan’s chin and started petting his hair. “Forget about the rest. And you’re not a cuck. Clyde and Cartman are cucks. My boss is a cuck. But you aren’t. You’re my husband, and I love you.” 

Stan nodded, smearing snot and tears into Kyle’s chest hair. “I love you too. I love you so much.”

Kyle grinned. “I can tell.” He wiped the rest of Stan’s tears away with his thumb. “Are you okay to keep going? We don’t have to.” 

“I’m still really horny,” Stan hiccuped. 

“Same,” Kyle said, which was physically evident, as neither of their erections had yet to abate. 

Stan released a stuttering breath and tried remembering what Kenny and Wendy had told him about intimacy and vulnerability and crap. It’d all seemed pretty lame at the time, but now he was taking their advice to heart. “I just need a second,” he said. “Can you hold me?” 

“Of course I can.” 

After being gently guided onto his side, Stan immediately latched onto Kyle, nuzzled his face into Kyle’s chest. Kyle wrapped him up in a tight hug, shushed and rocked him. Stan felt a little bit like a baby with a boner, but he supposed it was alright if Kyle wasn’t complaining. It felt nice to be coddled and cared for. His eyes fell shut and his breathing slowly evened out as he listened to the steady _ thump-thump-thump _of Kyle’s heartbeat. 

Kyle noticed the tension oozing away and rolled their hips together. Stan mewled, strengthening his grip. “You have to let go,” Kyle whispered, “so we can fuck.” 

“Y-yeah,” Stan mumbled. He unslung his limbs and turned onto his back, exhaled, then sat up and got his shit together. He was the one with the double dildo experience, here - he had to lead the charge. 

Kyle stuck close to his side. “What’s the best way to do this?” 

“I dunno,” Stan said. He picked the dildo up with both hands. “Didn’t come with a manual. Kenny offered a live demonstration; I turned it down.” 

“Don’t say _ that _,” Kyle warned. “You’ll kill the mood.” 

Stan grinned. “Right, my bad.” He looked around their bed. “I think if we face each other, use some pillows, it’ll work.” 

Kyle prepared the necessary arrangements. “Like this?” 

“Sure,” Stan guessed, sounding more confident than he really was. 

They laid back against opposite stacks of pillows, legs bent, dicks and asses parallel to each other, the bottle of lube between them. 

Stan readied his hand with more lube, slanted his hips down, and picked up where Kyle had left off, inserting three fingers into his ass. Kyle was happy to watch him prepare, stroking a lazy pace over his own cock as he spectated. 

Once Stan was able to fit his pinky in with his other fingers he pulled his hand out and wielded the dildo. “Alright,” he huffed. “If I just, y’know…” 

“You can do it,” Kyle encouraged, his fist pumping faster and faster. 

Stan tucked his chin to his chest - not that he could see much, but it helped get him in the zone - and bit his lip. He covered his end of the dildo with unnecessarily exorbitant amount of lube, then pressed it against his ass. 

His spine arched and toes flexed at the pressure. Kyle’s free hand wrapped around his ankle, an anchoring grip. Stan reached underneath his legs and spread his ass cheeks, pressed the dildo past his rim. The massively engorged head teased his entrance, which clenched prematurely. 

“Kyle,” he whined. “I can’t.” 

“Yes, you can,” Kyle said. “You did it last night, didn’t you? In front of Jesus and everything?”

“Mmm,” Stan hummed. He swirled the dildo in a circle, trying to find a point of entry. The silicone head clipped underneath his rim - he cried out, easing into the spot, forcing the entire width inside of him. 

The rest of the dildo pulled taut. Stan’s eyes snapped open - when had they _ closed _? - to see Kyle, four fingers deep, grab his end of the dildo. Kyle looked up at him through tawny eyelashes, removed his hand, and pressed the dildo against his own hole. With less slack and a firmer mid length, Stan noticed the plastic member was easier to control. 

“On the count of three,” he panted. “Three.” 

Kyle’s forehead crumpled with effort. “Two.” 

“One!” 

Stan’s wrist tendons jutted from his skin as he fought to keep his grip on the slippery material, and, if he had the wherewithal to check, he’d know Kyle fared the same. They wordlessly wrestled the anaconda dick inside each of their holes, whining and gasping with labor. 

Their hard work paid off when it became clear that, in order to spear themselves deeper, they’d have to slide closer together down the dildo’s mid length like some gay porno rendition of Lady and the Tramp’s spaghetti scene; Stan thought its backing track was a appropriate, at least - _ like a gay tarantella, lucky fella _ … _ that’s amore! _

Even Kyle was rendered speechless by the girth. Head tossed back, half-lidded eyes obscured by ginger curls, Stan thought they might’ve locked eyes. He made a vague motion with his head. Kyle nodded back. They proceeded to cross their legs on top of the other’s and scooted to the middle of the bed. 

“_ Stan _,” Kyle cried out, just as Stan called his name. The dildo sluiced over both their prostates. Stan placed his sweaty palm over the top of Kyle’s foot, could feel Kyle’s erratic pulse if he stretched his thumb up to the ankle joint. 

Stuck in a telepathetic bond formed by the torpedo cock inside of them, they reared back at the same time, then came together again, then repeated the motion, like they were sawing a tree trunk. The dildo’s width was a constant but unforgiving rigid channel that speared them from the inside out. Every move Kyle made traveled down its livewire length and impacted Stan’s own experience. They were two synapses firing adjacent to one another, to atoms locked in a covalent bond, two people sharing the same soul, the same massive javelin. 

Stan’s brain filled with fuzzy nothingness. He whited out, then blacked out, then came to still bouncing on the dildo, only now he was covered in cum. It took him a second to realize he’d ejaculated without touching himself, which hadn’t happened since he was probably twenty two years old, penned in a college dorm and getting fisted by Kyle while his roommate was sound asleep just two feet away. 

Once he realized he had climaxed everything shot up to an eleven. The air in the bedroom made his over-expended cock prickle, and his ass resisted against the dildo, trying to expel the threatening width that kept attacking his sensitive prostate. He persisted anyway, soaking up the feeling of his body dissolving into a pulpy soup of sex, hormones, and spiritual ether. 

Some unknown time later, he unglued his eyelids and shot a look at Kyle and - wow - literally, _ holy fuck _ \- 

Kyle had grabbed onto the bedsheets and lifted himself on his feet, pistoning the dildo in midair. No _ wonder _ Stan had came so hard - Kyle was commandeering the dildo with his thrusts, fucking while being fucked. Which had been the whole point of the operation, but Stan never expected Kyle would be so _ artful _about it. 

His hips undulated with a grace unmitigated by his recent weight gain. In fact, Stan thought it was even hotter seeing Kyle’s little fat rolls bunch together, then smooth out, then bunch together, then smooth out. His entire body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and his dick wagged proud and tall, leaking cum like a misappropriated fire hydrant. Small gasps fell out of his mouth, aborted silent screams. 

Stan was blessed to witness him finally cry out and _ cum _ to a trembling halt. Face wrenched in beautiful agony, thick spurts of ejaculate geysered out of his cock, came to settle over his stomach, legs, the bed, and Stan’s lower half. 

They both collapsed onto their backs, boneless and breathless. The dildo naturally eased itself out of their holes, dropped into the puddle of cum collecting on the sheets as they shivered and moaned.

Stan laid there for what felt like forever, trying to reorient himself with having a corporeal form. When he finally got his limbs back in order, he sat up, knocked the dildo off the bed, and wrapped a hand around Kyle’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, voice hoarse. “You okay?” 

Kyle nodded, curled in on himself. 

Stan frowned. “Kyle, honey. Say something.” 

“I’m alive,” Kyle wheezed. 

“Are you hurt?” Stan asked. 

Kyle shook his head. 

Stan clicked his tongue and rolled Kyle onto his back. Kyle blinked up at him, eyes full of tears. Panic sliced through Stan’s chest and he took hold of Kyle’s jaw, leaning even closer. “What is it? What’s wrong?” 

“I think I saw _ God _,” Kyle gasped. 

“Oh, shit.” Stan stroked Kyle’s cheekbone. “Me too, sweetheart. I saw _ something _.” 

“I don’t know if we’ve ever had better sex than just then,” Kyle said, a little glassy eyed. 

“Me neither.” 

Stan eased down behind Kyle and spooned him to his chest. “That was amazing.” 

“Mmhmm,” Kyle sighed. He brought Stan’s hand to his mouth, kissed his palm, his fingers, even put one into his mouth. The guy was a mess. 

“Let’s have sex all day,” Stan suggested. “Make up for lost time.” 

“Okay,” Kyle agreed. “But I need a nap.” 

“Yeah,” Stan said. He pressed his nose into Kyle’s neck. “I love you so, so much.” 

“You, too,” Kyle mumbled, and promptly passed out. 

/

Stan woke up feeling hungover, drizzled in dried cum. He wrestled his dead arm from under Kyle’s sleeping head and padded into the bathroom to take a piss, declining to flush lest he wake Kyle. He then retrieved his phone from the pocket of his discarded pants and stepped out into the hall to make a call. 

“Hey, man,” Kenny answered. “Wendy’s - uh - busy right now.” 

His voice sounded tinny, like he was on speaker phone. “That’s okay,” Stan said. “Just wanted to give you a status update.” 

“Shoot,” Kenny said. 

“It worked like _ magic _ ,” Stan gushed. “Like, it was insane. Kyle said he saw _ God _, that’s how good it was.” 

“Awesome! I’m - _ uuunh - _ really happy for you, dude.” 

Stan frowned. He pulled his phone away, looked at the screen, and put it back to his ear. “Kenny.” 

“Y-yeah?” 

“Are you...getting pegged right now?” 

“Wh-what d’you - ohhhhh, _ fuck _ \- think, Stan?” 

“You fucking _ miscreant _,” Stan snapped. “What the hell?” 

“Hey, Stan!” It was Wendy. “Mind your own fucking business!” 

“I wasn’t expecting you guys to answer in the middle of _ sex _,” Stan said. 

“Think again,” Kenny butted in. “We were expecting to hear word. Didn’t - aw, yeah, baby, _ right _there - didn’t want to miss the good news.” 

“Okay, well, I’m going to go cut my ears off,” Stan told him. 

“Cool, bye.” 

“Bye, Stan!” 

The call disconnected. Stan stood reflecting on his life for a solid two minutes before going back into his bedroom. 

Kyle had woken up. He stretched his legs. “Who was th-that?” he asked, mid-yawn. 

“You don’t want to know,” Stan said. He threw his phone to the floor and climbed back into bed. Kyle grunted a pleased affirmative and threw his arm over Stan’s waist. 

It was a good day. 

**Author's Note:**

> this fic definitely needs a reread so expect an edit notice sometime in the future


End file.
